My Other Name
by Bishou no Marina
Summary: After defeating the Crawler, the Queen receives a visitor: Reaver, ready to resume his post and serve her once again. But they both have hidden agendas, and it will spark a fierce battle of wits, willpower, and charm. The stakes? Her life, his soul, and the safety of a nation. Can Reaver face his awful past and reclaim his name, or will he drag Albion down with him into darkness?
1. Chapter 1: Triumph

From the Diary of Reaver:

(Recorded in his personal carriage, en route to Bowerstone)

_Another year, another tiresome trek to find a young rube to bring my Dark Seal to the Shadow Court. Although, I must say that the timing was rather convenient. It spared me the displeasure of getting involved in the Queen's noble "Battle for Albion." Not that I did not see the importance of _winning_ that battle, of course. The Queen may be whimsical and blinded by her ridiculous sense of morality, but there can be no doubt that the kingdom has flourished as never before under her rule, and despite the loss of my conscripted laborers, my own coffers have never been fuller. She pays me with her own gold to renovate the entire country, which has now expanded to include another continent. I left a good-luck note for her in the War Room in Bowerstone Castle before setting off for the more desolate corners of Albion, where I acquired a strapping lad of sixteen who asked no questions of me and was only too eager to run my little errand when I promised him a sizeable monetary reward. I believe I shall use the money to purchase something nice for our dear monarch…remind her that I am her most loyal servant and ready to take up my post once more. I am quite sure she will need me more than ever, now. War is such a wonderfully profitable thing._

"Well, well. She was right, after all."

I shook my head as I walked through the streets of Bowerstone Market—streets which, aside from a few heaps of sand (I could not explain _that_, and did not really care enough to try), were almost completely unmarked. Had the "great darkness" actually descended here? How very fascinating.

I paused before a newly erected monument in the city's center and found surprisingly few names etched into it. All told, Albion had lost only a handful of souls to the Crawler. I arched an eyebrow and suppressed a bubble of delighted laughter. A deliciously whimsical queen the little Hero certainly was, but a fool she evidently was not. Not _once_ had she taken my _many_ attempts at advice, choosing always to side with one bleeding heart or other, at great expense to the Kingdom. I had left a letter in the War Room of the castle wishing her the best, but absolutely certain that the city was doomed. But she had done it. She had brought Albion into a golden age on the eve of darkness, and she had conquered that darkness with astonishing efficiency. I reminded myself, not for the first time, to avoid landing on the wrong side of her mood.

"Oh my…"

I knew one of the names on the monument. Sir Walter Beck. The big man's incorrigible sense of nobility had been a great thorn in the side of the former king, Logan—but that situation had remedied itself without my help. Never come between siblings…

"The poor little sweet must be quite crushed," I mused. "Won the war, secured the love of the rabble, and all it cost was every piece of gold you ever earned and the life of the closest thing you ever had to a _daddy-dearest_."

Well, what was done was done. It was time now to resume my labors as Head of Reaver Industries. I stopped by a stall and bought a bouquet. Appearances, and all that rubbish. The young Queen would likely be grieving.

Rather than the glare of well-nursed hatred or meek flick of downcast eyes which I was by now accustomed to receiving from the common clay of Albion, the fellow at the flower stall gave me the brightest—and I might add, the most idiotic—beam I had ever seen on a man. I considered abandoning the idea of flowers for a moment, shrugged, and asked the fellow for a price.

"Make it a nice one, won't you?" I added, bored with the whole affair already. "It's for Her Majesty."

The man's eyes took on a slavishly adoring quality I had only ever observed in housepets and a lunatic woman by the name of Benjamina whom I had caught digging through my garbage two years ago. "F-for the Queen? Please! Please, friend, take my best arrangement. Free of charge. It's the least I can do."

_My my, you _have _won them over, haven't you?_

"Oh, of course. I daresay you would throw yourself before a speeding carriage for Her Ladyship."

"Without hesitation, sir," the stallkeeper said. "She saved us all. She's…she's like some kind of goddess, or something, if you follow me. She's a true Hero. My brother—he's a soldier, he is—he said he saw her fighting in the great battle, and that she had _wings_! All white and feathery, like an angel's, they were."

"No doubt. Tatty-bye!" _Ignorant stooge. _No _doubt_ it was another "super-Hero" rumor sparked by those insufferable sewer-people, the _Bowerstone Resistance_, now that the Queen's mantle sheltered them from the stamping-out they so richly deserved. Now they had the Crown—and by extension, me—in a veritable headlock, bleating on about fair pay and the rights of urchins and beggars, continuing to take, take, take while returning virtually nothing to society. The more the Queen gave, the greater their demands became. It was in their best interests to make her out to be some kind of deity.

I could not deny that it was an easy lie to swallow. She _was_, after all, a master of Strength, Skill, and Will, the three disciplines of Heroic blood. I myself had once been called the Hero of Skill—though anyone who may have known about that was long dead, now, which was just how I preferred it—and I had to admit to myself that it was possible that the Queen might be as swift and dangerous with a firearm as I. Add to that her ability to summon the elements and shoot them from her hands, and a gargantuan strength at odds with her slender frame, and what else could the uneducated miscreants call her but a goddess? Then, of course, there was her exceptional beauty. That flawlessly angelic face, and, far more importantly, those long legs, that shapely bottom, tiny waist and mind-bogglingly ample bosom… Her enticing features had been a welcome addition to my most delectable dreams ever since I had first watched her conquer my Wheel of Misfortune in a deliciously _décolleté_ gown. If only she and her oh-so-fiery friend, Page, had taken my gracious offer…. It would have been a night of unparalleled bliss.

But the saintly Queen was not an immortal. Like her mother before her, she would eventually grow old and die. I would not. Mine was a lifespan to rival Scythe's, or that of the old seer-hag, Theresa. But my advantage was that while they simply failed to _die_, _I_ failed to _age_. …Provided a certain matter was attended to each year, of course.

The flowers nestled in the crook of my arm were still damp with the dew of morning. They were fresh and vital, _truly _young. Like the Queen. Like _I _had been, hundreds of years ago, when I had borne another name in a quaint little village that no longer existed. A village that I had, in fact, destroyed, in my fear of my own mortality. But _that_ man was long gone. He had been so weak, so delicate, so disgustingly pathetic. _Reaver_ had taken his place, and he was stronger than ever, today.

As I mounted the steps of Bowerstone Castle, unchallenged by the Queen's guards, I realized I had crushed one of the lovelier blooms in my hand while the memories of Oakvale whirled through my mind. The ruined thing released a sweet, pleasing aroma as I opened my fist and let the petals fall. I smiled. It had given me a very entertaining idea, indeed.


	2. Chapter 2: Courage

From the Diary of Reaver:

(Recorded in Bowerstone Castle)

_As I write this tonight, I cannot be certain whether I ought to be suspicious or pleased. I suppose I will settle, in this case, for "baffled." Today's events have in no way gone as expected. I confess I hardly know what to do with myself. Perhaps I shall call for more wine. Yes, I believe that will do nicely. The royal wine-bearer is a comely lass and she is certain to be…accommodating to my needs. Perhaps she can be persuaded to bring some friends, as well… _

**12 Hours Earlier…**

"Ah, Your Majesty!" I cried, bowing with a flourish. "You look more radiant each time I see you. Permit me to say, I am so _very_ sorry to hear about the unfortunate demise of your mentor. He will be greatly missed, I'm sure."

The Queen accepted my flowers with a solemn nod. "Thank you, Reaver. Sir Walter died a hero's death, and he will be honored for all that he has done for this Kingdom and its people."

I studied her face carefully for any signs of vulnerability. If she needed comfort, I was more than willing to offer my services—_all_ of them. A few hours in my bedchambers would be enough to make her forget her troubles, and perhaps render her a bit more…malleable. It would certainly fulfill a number of _my _desires. She really did look more beautiful than ever; that had been no idle flattery on my part. I was beginning to experience a deliciously painful sensation whenever I laid eyes on her, something I had not felt in several centuries. Here was a conquest I might not actually be able to make. And that made me want her all the more.

The empty space beside her where another throne ought to have been sitting was rather appealing, too, I must say.

But alas, her gaze was steady and her face betrayed no weakness. Unbelievably, there was even a small smile blooming on her lips! I had fully expected her to be so devastated that she might not even wish to greet me. Yet here she was, and apparently in no hurry to see me off. Odder still, she had sent the guards away to wait outside the closed doors of the Throne Room. We were alone.

I was just about to make an attempt to steer our conversation in a more sensual direction when she spoke again.

"Do you know my name?" she asked softly.

I stared at her for a moment, slightly puzzled. Was she actually going to do this _for_ me? "Of course, Your Radiance. It is Rose. A name nearly as lovely as its bearer."

She smiled at my praise—a most encouraging sign—and went on. "I was named for my mother's sister, who was murdered by Lord Lucien Fairfax. The name has history and deep meaning, and with it comes a responsibility I strive to honor. My mother was raised by gypsies after my aunt's death, as you well know. They have strong beliefs about the importance and power of names. With this name I carry all the love, hope, and sacrifices of my forebears. In fact, I am the first Hero of my line to have been known to the world by my real name."

"Hmm, I always suspected that 'Sparrow' was a pet name. That is, er, most intriguing, Your Majesty, but—"

"I have wondered for some time, now…what is _your_ real name, Reaver?" she asked, still speaking quietly. But there was a subtly dangerous edge to her voice, now.

I smirked bitterly. Something was certainly not right. What had happened while I was away? What could she know?

"I can understand your hesitation," she continued, growing more serene again. "I, too, believe as my forebears did. I respect their traditions. But I am not afraid to show the world who I am. Neither are you. But who you _were_? Now _that_, you seem to wish to keep hidden."

Though momentarily poleaxed, I recovered quickly. I always do. Favoring the shrewd beauty with my most smoldering gaze, I leaned closer to her. "Am I to understand, Your Majesty, that you wish to know me more intimately? I assure you, the feeling is mutual."

I had no doubt that the impudence of my actions would either anger her enough to refuse me and send me away, or at the very least, intimidate her.

Astonishingly, I was bloody well wrong.

Queen Rose gave me a wickedly sultry smile that was somehow even more beguiling on her angelic, glowing face than it would have been on one less innocent. "Oh, _Reaver_," she laughed merrily, "that is _precisely_ what I want. You have served me—and my brother, too, actually—so faithfully, and what have you received in return? Cold, soulless gold." She removed one of her gloves and ran a cool finger over my jawline. "I believe you deserve better than that."

"You are truly gracious," I purred, waiting eagerly to see what she had in mind. Her touch was unbelievably wonderful. I could feel my blood rushing in my veins, now, as my pulse quickened. I imagined plunging my hands into the soft mass of her dark hair, inhaling the scent of her, tasting her perfect skin…and other things I would surely be doing in mere minutes, once the Queen had had her fun playing Seductress. I had learned during the course of my many years that nothing could kill a good mood like stealing one's potential lover's thunder. So I waited.

She swept a thumb gently from my cheek to my earlobe. I almost felt an electric crackle wherever her skin met mine. "This beauty mark resting high on your cheek has significant meaning with the more superstitious, as well."

"Does it really?"

"Yes. They call a natural mark on that part of the face 'courage.' May I ask why you cover it up as you do?" She released me and held up her kohl-smudged thumb. It glittered faintly in the sunlight. It was quite expensive, after all; I only use the very best products.

"I do not hide it, Your Majesty," I answered, highly annoyed. Had it been _anyone_ but the Queen of Albion, I would have responded with bullets. I have always hated having my face interfered with by others. "I merely decorate it. The heart shape simply appeals to me at the moment. You were speaking of a reward a moment ago, Your Majesty, if I recall correctly, were you not?"

"I was, and I will again. Before that, however, I have a request."

"I am at your service, as always."

"I should like you to stay here, in the castle, for a while. I will grant you the tower where I once slept and a number of servants to see to your needs."

_That_ certainly was odd. I knew I must tread lightly here. "Might I inquire, Your Majesty, as to what I have done to earn this honor? Or should I say, what I _will_ be doing to earn it?"

"Truth be told, I want you where I might have access to you at any moment," she replied smoothly. She gazed up at me from beneath long, feathery lashes, a trick she may well have learned by observing _me_, damn her. I wanted to tear her clothes off right then and there, but I was not entirely confident that she would not shoot, stab, and/or set me on fire if I did. The woman just never seemed to go about unarmed. It occurred to me that her personal guard seemed rather redundant. But, as I mentioned before, appearances must be upheld where public figures are concerned.

"My dear, sweet Queen," I said, taking her hand and touching my lips to her fingers, lingering just long enough to punctuate my meaning. "You may _access_ me whenever your lovely heart desires."

_And_, I added privately, _vice-versa._ This was not an opportunity I had any intentions of wasting. I had a young, overwhelmingly desirable woman to acquire, and a throne to secure. I would make them both mine before the season was out.

**12 Hours Later…**

From the Diary of Rose, Queen of Albion:

(Recorded in Bowerstone Castle)

_Everything is going according to plan. Reaver literally holds the key to the safety of this realm, and I mean to take it from him. After seeing him today, looking younger than ever, I am now completely positive that the Crawler's sudden appearance was related in some way to the Shadow Court. My mother died so quickly after my birth because she sacrificed her vitality to save an innocent girl. I have been through all of her journals, which were left to me by Walter, along with some of her personal letters to him, and I believe I have hit upon a way to prevent the Darkness from ever returning. Mother included bits of Reaver's old diary, which she found in his Bloodstone home after she took it for herself during his absence. If I have the strength, I can do more than simply destroy the Shadow Judges. I can save the abomination they created so long ago. I will simply give him what he wants. In this moment, there is no one who knows Reaver so well as I do. And I know that his desire will be the end of him. _


	3. Chapter 3: Trust

**A personal note from Reaver:** _Before we begin today, I would like to extend my greetings to the beautiful Angelacm, kiltsaresexy (you know, I believe I have just the thing for us in my wardrobe, my sweet), and dear, dear Jessi, who, I understand, have all either written or enjoyed several other intriguing stories about me. I shall have to peruse them later over a nice brandy. You are all, of course, more than welcome to join me…hmmhmm. I do so enjoy brunettes. …And blondes, and gingers, and…well, you get the idea, I suppose. Read on, my loves!_

**OOC: Thank you all for your reviews! This story just went up and your feedback is so encouraging! I am honored to have true Reaver-connoisseurs reading my work. : ) You rock, ladies. This one is for you!**

When was the last time I had woken up alone after ménage à trois? A simple threesome _was_ all I had been able to orchestrate at such short notice in the unfamiliar territory of the castle, but it had been invigorating all the same. The wine bearer in particular had been _most_ helpful in relieving my tension. Her husband, somewhat less so. But, alas, one could not expect perfection from the likes of them. I could think of only one who could possibly sate me fully, and _she_ slept in a room which was barred by six elite guards. Six! Personally, I found that a tad insulting. I would have been capable of dispatching twice that number had I the inclination, even thoroughly marinated as I was in that _incredible_ wine. Ah, well.

Now that I thought about it, I _still_ felt a bit intoxicated, which was slightly disquieting. The regenerative powers of Heroic blood had always been both a blessing and a curse to me, because while I could certainly _get_ drunk, I could not _stay_ that way for very long without another round of libations. I wondered how the Queen had found a way around that…perhaps an exceptionally potent fruit from, say, Aurora…. I made a mental note to find out and obtain some for myself later. Of course, such a wine would more than likely _kill_ an ordinary person, but then, as far as I could remember, none but I had tasted it last night.

At any rate, my room was empty and immaculate. One would almost certainly never know anything uncouth had occurred here. Where _had_ she dug up such excellent servants? I supposed it was of little consequence. In time, they would be _my_ servants, too.

It was with this happy little dream in mind that I dressed for the day, humming a spritely tune and arranging my hair and applying my facial creams and powders by muscle memory alone. My eyes I left closed, the better to envision the perfect future I had planned for myself and my dear Queen. I paused for a moment with my kohl pencil held before my face, then put it down. She did not seem to care for the little heart I had become so fond of drawing over my beauty mark. I decided to leave it off this time. The smallest gestures were often far more effective than the grandest ones, after all.

"Courage, hmm?" Though normally disdainful of the superstitious fancies of the unwashed masses, I rather liked the sound of that one. And I most definitely did _not_ like the insinuation that I was _hiding _it.

There was a soft knock on my door. Could it be Her Majesty? No, of course not. Not in broad daylight. _Appearances_, I reminded myself. She would send a servant.

"Come in, come in! Let us not be _shy_, now!" I called cheerfully, adding the finishing touches to my hair.

A squat, mutton-chopped toadstool of a man waddled in. I remembered him. "Ah, my dear Hobson! Such a delight to see you again."

"Master Reaver, the pleasure is mine, I assure you. It has been far too long since we have had the honor of your presence at court. Your absence was keenly felt." His piggy little eyes glittered. I knew he had campaigned heavily in favor of the measures I had suggested for the Kingdom before the battle, but I rather detested the man, all the same.

I smiled wickedly and winked. "Naturally, as my little visits left you quite alone with the treasury." Why the Queen even kept him around at all was still mysterious to me. She had to know he was skimming. _Perhaps I ought to get rid of him for her._

Hobson—how aptly named he was, that son of a Hobbe—reddened briefly before regaining his oily composure. "I assure you that I take my duties very seriously, Master Reaver, including the arduous task of keeping the Kingdom's _vast_ accounts in order. Now, if you will follow me, sir, Her Majesty the Queen has asked that you join her in the Royal Garden for a light breakfast."

"Splendid!" I clapped my hands briskly and overtook him in two long strides. "No need to escort me, Hobson. I know the way."

A table was set out beneath a free-standing canopy of layers of sheer white cloth that conveniently both obscured it from nosy parkers and kept the insects away. I drew one of the curtains aside, but there was no one in there.

"Hmmm…" It would be quite rude of me to begin without my host. Where had she gone off to?

I heard her before I saw her. An effortlessly sweet soprano, clear as a glass chime, reached my ears from beyond a nearby thicket of white roses.

"_Down by the reeds  
down by the reeds  
swim the sirens of Oakvale  
out to the seas._

_Down by the reeds_  
_down by the reeds_  
_float the souls left unbroken_  
_by White Balverines_."

Oh, bloody _hell_. I positively _loathed_ that horrid song. My new calfskin gloves creaked as my fingers flexed inside them. I wanted a throat to squeeze, and I wanted it now.

"_Down by the reeds  
night-blooming weeds  
embrace those who go dancing,  
in sad moonlit dreams_."

"Your Majesty?" I called out a bit shrilly, trying to keep from stuffing my fingers into my ears or into my (empty) pistol holster. "You called for me, yes?"

"_Down by the reeds  
a twisted path leads  
to Banshees who breathe out  
a cold winter breeze_."

She could not possibly have failed to hear me. She must have simply decided to ignore me. I ground my teeth in frustration and started to follow the haunting voice that was singing about me—about _me_! The fact that no one else really knew that particular tidbit of information was of little consequence. The song had been written in the wake of the destruction of Oakvale, and I _would not hear it_. The Queen's singing voice was beyond lovely, but for my own sanity, I knew I simply had to shut her up. Immediately.

I rounded a corner of thorny blooms and found her. Rose among the roses, immaculate, glorious, and ethereal. And _still. Bloody. Singing. _

"_Nobody knows,  
nobody sees  
the sirens of Oakvale  
down by the reeds_."

A light sweat broke over my brow. Queen Rose's eyes were locked on my own as she completed the final verse. Worse still, they held a very knowing light. Her face was a mask of divine pity. _She knows_, I thought, in something of a panic now. It was all I could do not to run out of the garden, out of _Albion_, for that matter. _She knows, she knows_! I wildly considered killing her right there, along with everyone else in Bowerstone.

She was standing before me so quickly that I almost failed to notice her movements, cradling my face in her perpetually cool hand. "You look pale, Reaver," she murmured kindly. "Why don't we sit down?"

Then she was leading me to the canopy, and with a whisper of silky white cloth, we were alone at the table. I felt slightly better without the sun glaring down on me like a bloody great eye. The strong emotions I had experienced moments ago began to seem a bit absurd, now. She could not know I had anything to do with—with Oakvale. It wasn't possible. And supposing it was, why should I care? It had nothing to do with me, now. It was history. Ancient history. What did I care for Oakvale? What did I care for the Queen?

I relaxed, let out a long breath, and made myself smile winningly at her. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I admit I _was _feeling rather peaky for a moment. The morning light does such wonderful things to your beautiful skin, you see. I was quite overcome when I saw you standing among the roses. It was poetry in motion."

It wasn't a lie.

"You are very kind to say so," she answered demurely. But, since no flush of color crept into her face, I could only assume that she was _well_ aware of her effect on my senses. I found that quite intriguing. How could someone so pure and benevolent be so incredibly manipulative? Perhaps she was better suited to politics than I had imagined.

"I hope you found your chambers to your liking," she said, lifting the silver covers from the dishes. I had come to discover over the last year that she preferred to do most things for herself; she kept almost no personal attendants. There was only Hobson, and somewhere in a sanctuary in the ether, Jasper. A marvelous riot of savory smells filled my nose as she worked, serving a fine selection of fresh berries, sugared clotted cream, warm nut bread, roasted tomatoes, enormous fluffy omelets, thick slices of sizzling bacon, and a small wheel of sweet white cheese. There was also some sort of golden juice chilling in a crystal decanter surrounded by a sculpted crown of ice, and she poured a generous amount into my chalice.

"I found them most agreeable, indeed," I replied heartily. The fact that the bed had belonged to the Queen at one time had definitely lent a certain spice to my nocturnal activities. "My, what a generous spread you have prepared, Your Majesty! I scarcely know how we shall be able to do it the justice it deserves."

She didn't look up as she made her sedate way back to her chair. "Oh, I'm sure we'll manage. The metabolic rates of Heroes are astounding. Between the two of us, I doubt there will be so much as a scrap left to waste. Don't you agree?" Her eyes met mine again, and now they were sparkling with mirth.

"Well, aren't you a clever minx?" I decided to drop a few of my pretenses at once, now that she had. "Please, do tell me…how long have you known?"

"Not long." She popped a small strawberry into her mouth with one long finger, paused, and gently kissed the juice from its tip. The sight of her puckered lips moving so sensuously against her fingertip made me _very_ restless. "Though I had my suspicions when I saw how easily you deflected Page's bullet after we dispatched your balverines," she continued, choosing another berry.

Oh dear. This was certainly awkward. "Ah…Yes, I do hope you have forgiven me for that indiscretion. Had I known who you _were_, I assure you, I would not have behaved with such appalling manners."

"No doubt." One side of her mouth pulled up in a half-smile. "Reaver, please believe me when I tell you that I truly harbor no ill will toward you. If I have learned anything from becoming a Hero, it is that we all act in accordance with our nature. Our choices define us. And you have been making the same choices for so long that it would be folly to think you capable of changing your nature, now."

"Should…I take that as an _insult_, Your Majesty?" I asked slowly, a bit put out.

"Only if you feel insulted. Back to your original question: I found solid proof after I…after Walter was killed." Her skin pulsed briefly with an intricate pattern of blue light, a sign that her Will was struggling to show itself. I was pleased that at the very least, this conversation was probably more upsetting to her than it was to me. She bit her lip, seemed to calm herself, and went on. "He left all of his possessions to me. My mother had left _him_ all of her diaries, and many letters. She…she loved him, you see. More than she had ever loved her husband."

"Surely you don't mean your father, the Prince, was a cuckold? Oh, how _rich_," I chuckled, stabbing at a slice of tomato with my fork.

"That is truer than you know," she said, completely unfazed. "The Prince was _not_, in fact, my father."

_That_ gave me a moment's pause. The tomato slid from its place on the silver tines and would have fallen into my _lap_ had I not been possessed of superhuman motor skills. "That's…Your Majesty, _really_. You mean to say, you're—"

"A bastard." She spread her arms grandly. "And a proud one. My father was Sir Walter Beck. Logan, on the other hand, is true-born."

_Hum. _"Well, I really don't quite know what to say, Your Majesty. It certainly seems extraordinarily out of character for your saintly mother. But, surely this is not something you would want the public to know about your family, is it? Why tell me?"

"I have three reasons. Firstly, as it happens, I trust you to keep this information to yourself. Secondly, if anyone _does_ get wind of it, I will know that trust was misplaced. And I assure you, Reaver, I _never_ make the same mistake twice. Thirdly…" Her voice and her eyes softened. "I'm not ashamed. I could not have asked for a better father. As for my mother…well, even saints can sin. It does not undo the good things they have done."

"And what can I do for _you_, Your Majesty? You've made it very clear that you want something from me."

"You and I have somewhere to go. Alone. If my trust in you proves wise." Her gaze could have cut stone. It sent shivers up and down my spine. "I suggest that you ensure that it does. The benefit to you is greater than anything your wildest dreams could ever concoct, and believe me…" Leaning forward, she swept a bit of cream from my lower lip and slid the creamy fingertip between her lips in one slow, perfectly controlled movement, closing her eyes to savor its taste. "My imagination can keep up with yours easily. It can, perhaps, outpace it, and I am fully prepared to prove it."

My heart thundered in my breast, my hot blood positively _singing_ for this woman! There was nothing, absolutely nothing that could threaten me enough to keep me from what was mine. This had been the ultimate truth of my life. Whatever Queen Rose's little journey might entail, I was more than confident that it would be worth my time. Because I could see in her lovely face that she knew _exactly_ what I wanted, and that she would be true to her word.

**Thank you for reading and reviewing, everyone! I'll have more for you very soon. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4: Passion

**Thank you all for your kind reviews! They mean a great deal to me, and inspire me to work hard to generate chapters quickly. You are absolutely wonderful! Special thanks go out to Angelacm, whose uplifting comments always make me smile, and Illusion of the Mirror, who is a very lovely person indeed.**

**Please enjoy and review!**

From the Diary of Jasper:

(Recorded in the Sanctuary)

_I am so old. I can feel the relentless weight of past decades pressing down upon me. I have served two generations of royalty. I have seen a small, frightened boy become a tall, frightened King. I have buried my closest friend, though he ought to have outlived me by many years. I have witnessed the birth of a Hero. I have been part of the revolution of a nation and I have seen the world become something entirely new. I have seen what most would call…the impossible. And I am so very, very tired. But it is the weariness of a good, long walk at the end of a baking hot day, when the air has begun to cool and there is a soft breeze on your face. I never believed myself capable of greatness. My life was a simple one and I was content with my station. I did not ask for this burden…or this blessing. But were I given the chance to change my stars, I would not do it for the wide world. I have watched Rose grow into the woman her mother always hoped she would be, and I have seen that there is still hope for Logan, as well, even after all that he has done. They are my family, and wherever they lead, I shall follow, until the day of my death. But…with Sir Walter gone, I worry. He was as a father to Rose, and that she was forced to slay him with her own hand was beyond cruel. It does not bear describing. I thought it would end her. But I was wrong. The loss did not break her heart, nor did it harden it. I believe Sir Walter would have said that it tempered it, much as one does a good blade. She now rules with a strong hand and a gentle spirit. I…I rather fear there is little for someone like me to do for her, now. It is so easy to forget that she has only been Queen for a year. She is very hard on herself and the people demand much from her. But she loves them, as she loves every living soul, and she cannot bear to let them languish in pain or fear. Even now, after all she has accomplished, she is working tirelessly in pursuit of something I cannot begin to understand. All I know for certain is that it involves Reaver, and _that_ is by definition dangerous in the extreme. I do not fear my own death, but I am terrified of leaving Rose alone. Avo be merciful... She is so young._

From the Diary of Rose, Queen of Albion:

(Recorded in Bowerstone Castle)

_I had the nightmare again. First, I saw Walter as he was on that terrible day in the Crawler's lair: trapped and drowning, choking on thick, tarry blackness. Bleeding light, _hemorrhaging _light,_ _doomed to become the Crawler's host. Then, I was in the Throne Room, and Logan was presenting me with the choice that will continue to haunt me until the end of my days. I watched as Elliot was dragged away to his execution, and for the first time in my life, I cursed my brother. I know in my heart that allowing Elliot the dignity of his choice was the right thing to do, but still I feel as though the hand that pulled the trigger that day was my own. I promised Logan that I would never forgive him, but the truth is that I will never forgive myself. I love my brother, because I now know what he was forced to endure, and that it was not fair. He was not mentally, emotionally, or physically equipped to deal with the threat to the Kingdom. He truly believed that what he was doing was for the good of the people. I hope that history does not judge him too harshly, now that the truth has come to light. Finally, there is the most profound aspect of the nightmare: the copy of myself that I battled in the Keep. Am I really only a politician, now? Do I have the right to rule these people simply because my mother had sufficient gold to seize the country? It feels wrong. I was born to fight, yet I spend more time sitting in that glorified chair than I ever wanted to. But for now, this _is_ my lot, and I can do more for the people from here than I could anywhere else. Yet, I fear for its future. Despite her goodness, my mother gave birth to a tyrant; what if I do the same? I would not doom my country or my children to another war._

_But that is not the most urgent issue at hand. The Shadow Judges must be done away with, and Reaver's soul, along with his other name, the name he left behind so many centuries ago, must be restored. Theresa once told my mother that there was no light in his heart, but I cannot make myself believe that. There is goodness somewhere, albeit buried by his desperation to be anyone but the boy who condemned his only home to eternal death. He drinks excessively and loses himself in loveless sex, but it will never be enough to completely erase the naïve boy he still inhabits in his rarer nightmares. Still, the long years have left him jaded and detached from the experience. The only way I can save him is to confront him with his past, and reopen his festered wounds so that they may be cleaned out for good. I will need time to accomplish this. But with the Kingdom out of danger, time is one thing I have in abundance._

_I can hear him—he is coming._

The moon was full and heavy as it shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Queen's chambers. A flawless setting for a romantic little tryst, if ever I saw one. …But the bloody guards would not allow me to cross the threshold.

"I say, would you mind terribly getting out of the way?" I asked them, biting back my temper.

"No one may enter the Queen's chambers without permission from Her Majesty, sir."

"I am _here_ at Her Majesty's _request_, you incompetent lack-wit."

"I'm sorry, sir, but you will have to wait here until—"

"Thank you, Lance Corporal Tucker, you may stand down. Master Reaver is indeed expected and has been given full clearance within the castle. I know this is not standard protocol. Forgive me."

Queen Rose had appeared at the doorway, resplendent in a sleek white gown with enough slink to satisfy me that the wait had been very much worth my while. She bent to whisper something in the young Lance Corporal's ear. He flushed, grinned, and gave a smart salute which she returned with a stately nod and the slow smile I had come to admire so very much. Her hair was loose tonight, a soft tumble of dark waves that spilled over her shoulders and down her back. _Send them away_, I thought ferociously. _Send the damned guards away and close the bloody doors_!

True to her penchant for doing just the opposite of what I expect, she did _not_ send the guards away.

"Reaver," she said, all elegance and serenity, as though summoning people in the middle of the night was both ordinary and perfectly acceptable. I had shot hundreds—nay, _thousands_ of people for far, far less. "I am sorry to disturb you like this. But I have something to show you, and it cannot wait."

My fingers drummed smartly over my crossed arms. Unless she planned to give me an extended tour of the areas hidden beneath that dress, I would make her very sorry, indeed. Somehow, I had been able to obtain neither bedfellows nor wine this evening, and I was in a black mood. And she was going the _wrong way_, now, stepping _out_ of her luxurious _boudoir_ instead of welcoming me into it. What _was_ this foolishness about?

She must have read the anger on my face immediately, because she took my hand firmly gave and me a look that plainly told me she would not brook any protests. I sighed and allowed her to lead me, reminding myself that I was here to romance her into my bed—a _marriage_ bed with a crown attached to it. I clearly could not force her, as I could my other conquests. She might not take my head off, but I felt quite certain that I would not come out of a confrontation with all my parts intact.

"Relax and trust me," she whispered as we walked down and down, deep into the bowels of the castle. The air grew colder, and I was momentarily gratified to see her body respond to the change. The fabric clinging to her well-toned body left little to the imagination. It was absolutely maddening.

"Your Majesty, far be it from me to question you—"

"But you will, regardless," she interrupted with a pleasant laugh, "and it will do you no good."

My answering chuckle was a bit forced. My instincts told me that I was not going to like what was coming.

"There," she said, tugging the handle of an ancient-looking door. It opened noiselessly. This was clearly a well-used room, despite its location. "Please come inside and shut the door behind you."

I did so, plunging the room into near total darkness. The only light came from Queen Rose's softly glowing body; the gauzy dress allowed all of her strange luminescence to show through spectacularly. I followed it like a moth, wondering why in blazes she had brought me here and trying to ward off a steadily growing headache.

"Take my hand." Her words, though softly spoken, echoed in the cavernous room.

I went to her side and held her deceptively delicate hand in mine. My skin glowed faintly pink where it covered hers, as though I were cupping a lit candle against the wind. All at once, it began to pulse blue, and we were bathed in the hot light of a small fire held suspended above her other hand.

"I thought you required the use of a special gauntlet in order to harness your Will," I marveled.

"I did," she said with a touch of sadness. "But they are now obsolete."

Ah. How wonderful. Now she really _did _have access to a weapon at all times. I looked down at my feet and was rather surprised to see the familiar blue and gold of the Guild Seal.

"A Cullis Gate?" I breathed. "Erm, where exactly are we going? If it is all the same to you, Your Majesty, I'd rather not leave without my pistol. In fact, I'd rather not leave, at all. Why don't we adjourn to your chambers and discuss this remarkable device over a brandy?"

"You will not need your pistol. I promise you."

I had perhaps one second to glare into her somber brown eyes before she released the fireball and a flare of pure white light took my body to pieces.

* * *

Cold. I was so very, very cold. Wind buffeted my face as I lay in the snow, gasping. Then two strong hands pulled me to my feet and I was once again looking at the one person in Albion—perhaps the world—who could take such liberties with me without provoking my most lethal wrath. She was beaming, though she shivered violently from the frigid wind that whipped at her hair and dress, occasionally baring a shapely leg.

"It worked!" she cried triumphantly.

"Do you mean to say," I shouted furiously over the wind, "that you had never tested it before?! You could have killed us both!"

"Of course I have tested it. Just…never with two people. I _built_ it," she said proudly. "Now, we have an appointment with a very important and very _impatient_ fellow. Come with me."

_This is the last time_, I promised myself as we trudged through the snow. _The very last_. I was growing weary of allowing this woman to disrupt my life. My head was positively pounding. I needed a deep drink of wine. I needed my _bed_.

The Queen seemed completely unconcerned with my obvious discomfort as she dragged me along. She was, in fact, almost giddy, and if I didn't know better, I might have thought she was actually gliding across the deep snow. My exhausted eyes must have been playing tricks on me.

"Here we are," she said at last, mist rising from her breath. "Now, before we both freeze to death, I would like you to kiss me."

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. "You what?"

"Please, Reaver, let us not play games. Do you want to stay out here all night?"

"No, no I do not."

"Then please do cease your pussyfooting and kiss me."

"Your wish, my command, Your Majesty. Though I must confess…this makes absolutely no sense to me."

Nevertheless, I was not a _buffoon_. With great eagerness, I drew her close, reveling in the soft warmth of her body despite my irritation with her incomprehensible whimsy. This was, after all, what I had been working toward. The circumstances were not exactly what I had envisioned, but it would have to do for now. I did not have to bend to kiss her; her command of Skill made her almost exactly as tall as I. Her lips met mine with astonishing hunger, soft and deliciously sweet. I could feel her heart beating hard and fast against my chest as she slid her arms around my neck and curled her fingers into my hair, pressing the length of her slender body against mine. Then her grip tightened and she jerked my head backward to expose my throat and graze her teeth lightly against my neck and collarbone. Her feathery lashes tickled my jaw, and I forgot the cold instantly. With one hand, I cupped her chin and claimed her lips once more with a soft groan, crushing her even harder against me as she parted her lips and yielded to my skillful tongue. My other hand came to rest firmly on her bottom, grinding her hips against mine, where she would feel the hard proof of my desire. It was bliss.

She ended the kiss with a tender bite on my lower lip, pulling away and looking rather flushed. I could see the glazed light of lust in her eyes, and it drove me over the edge of sanity. Cold be damned. I would take her here in the snow.

"Well?" she asked breathlessly, looking intently at something to my left. "Will that do?"

I struggled to form a coherent sentence, then realized with no small amount of chagrin that she was _not_, in fact, addressing _me_. I followed her gaze and saw that she was speaking to a _wall_. It had a face, but it was a wall, nevertheless.

"Oh my, yes!" the wall cried ecstatically. "Absolutely breathtaking! At last, my novel can be completed! My mind is positively aglow with inspiration! I will honor our bargain. You may enter, now. Be sure to look for my book in a few months!"

And with that, the face split down the middle and revealed a swirling blue void. So. Queen Rose had brought me to this frigid wasteland in order to entertain a voyeuristic demon door. Lovely. I might have strangled her. However, I was quite frankly exhausted and I did not know how to operate a bloody Cullis Gate on my own.

"As much as I love the scenic vistas of Mistpeak, Reaver, I'd really like to go inside, now. I dressed to seduce, not to weather blizzards."

I stared incredulously at the Queen. "You intend to go through that…thing? Thank you, but if it is all the same to you, I believe I shall pass. It is far, _far_ past time I returned to the castle and my bed."

"So you prefer to walk?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I _prefer_ to be transported back. Immediately, if possible. You have clearly gotten all that you needed from me."

"Don't be bitter," she chided disapprovingly. "You enjoyed every moment. More importantly, you are about to see something no one has laid eyes on in more than a thousand years. Come. I will show you."

I rolled my eyes skyward, searching for patience and trying to slow the beating of my heart. This woman was going to be the death of me. I felt like some kind of mad marionette, pulled this way and that, all at Her Majesty's pleasure. But I could not break free from the lingering ecstasy of her embrace. She _did_ want me. I had seen it. A bit more patience, and I would have her. But I was through dancing to her tunes. It was well past time to launch a more aggressive campaign.

"Very well," I said a bit huskily, still fighting to bring my heart rate under control again. "Lead on, my clever little dove."


	5. Chapter 5: Virtue

**I know I just updated, but I was so excited about this chapter that I spent all day working on it, just for you guys! It includes my first-ever attempt at a LEMON (oh, the scandal!), and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you, kiltsaresexy and angelacm, for your amazing feedback. That was what motivated me today. Consider this juicy chapter my way of saying "Thank you!" **

* * *

I was no longer in Albion. This was another world, something completely untouched by the one I normally inhabited. It was somehow familiar, yet subtly alien. The Queen stood nearby, her face turned skyward in an expression of pure rapture. Somewhere, someone was playing a harp—I could hear it, but I could not for the life of me imagine where it was coming from. We were in a field surrounded by dozens upon dozens of demon doors. I could feel the sun melting the snow from my coat and boots and inhaled the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, looking about myself in wonder. My head no longer ached. My ill temper had extinguished itself the moment I had stepped into this strange paradise.

"What is this place?"

"A door to other doors," she replied over her shoulder, giving me a dazzling smile. "It is a place for which I have been searching for many months, now. I should have known it would be this one. Demon doors are so incredibly emotional. Of _course_ love would be the key to the focal point."

Young, tender grass rustled gently as she walked toward me, scattering a brilliant cloud of butterflies who had been sipping at the nectar of the myriad flowers. She was clearly at home, here, whereas I was growing increasingly uneasy. My thrice-damned pistol was sitting on my nightstand where I had left it, apparently worlds away.

"Don't you see, Reaver? You are standing at the center of the universe as we know it. I have been opening demon doors all over Albion, searching for the one that would bring me here. I began to worry that it might not be in Albion, after all. But as you can see…" she made a sweeping gesture at all of the doors around us, embedded in the cliff faces and craggy rocks that surrounded the meadow. "This is it. From here, we can access all of them. Hundreds of worlds, hundreds of realities, an infinite number of possibilities. Even the laws of _time_ are broken, here!"

I was suddenly feeling very dizzy. She noticed.

"Steady, now," she murmured soothingly, taking my hands and squeezing them. "I know it is overwhelming at first. Even I cannot help but feel overcome by the majesty of this place and the implications that go along with it, and I have been doing this for over a year. I have recovered artifacts you would have to see to believe. They are gifts, of a sort, from the demon doors. They are such lonesome things, you know. Now, you will recall that I promised you a reward for your services to the Kingdom. Come and see it."

_That_ certainly caught my attention. Her enthusiasm was more difficult to resist than I would have liked to admit, and I followed her to a pedestal standing in the center of the field, only mildly apprehensive now.

"Oh…"

An absolute masterpiece of a pistol gleamed coldly in the sunlight, all gilded steel and rosewood shot with rivulets of pure gold running along its considerable length, which I quickly estimated to be just over 50 centimeters. The polished wood gave off a deep, warm, reddish glow. I had never seen its equal in my life.

Rose was watching me fondly. "Go on, then. Take it. I know how naked you must feel without a gun at your hip. I can relate."

I lifted the gun almost lovingly from its resting place and turned it this way and that, admiring the way the sunlight glinted off its magnificent surface. Then I spun, cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger in one fluid movement. The pistol's thunderous report seemed to shake the very stones around us. I felt it deep in my chest. It was _perfection_. Feeling lighter than air, I made my way toward my target, bent, and retrieved it: a large white rose, its broken stem bleeding from the fresh wound my bullet had made when it tore it from its bush. It was the choicest of all the blossoms in the meadow. I returned to the Queen and tucked it into her hair, just behind her ear.

"Oh, my dear, dear Queen… You are as magnanimous as you are beautiful," I declared feelingly, bending over her hand and brushing her knuckles with my lips. I was feeling better than I had in as long as I could remember. I felt the stirrings of a purely youthful sort of energy which had long lain dormant within me, and which I quite frankly had not expected to experience ever again. My yearly tributes to the Shadow Court gave me only the ghosts of youth—the appearance and the stamina of a young man. Here in this strange place, I felt myself truly coming alive again. I was _vital_, as full of life as the greenery around me. For the first time in centuries, my youth felt genuine.

_Even the laws of time are broken, here_.

The Queen's words hit me like a hammer. Suddenly, the meadow felt too small, the faces of the demon doors too scrutinizing. I shuddered violently, struggling to ground myself. My grip tightened on the magnificent pistol, and its weight was reassuring, but not nearly enough to calm me. Here in this unnatural place, it was all too easy to remember a time when I _was_ young, and had had my first taste of the ashes of betrayal and death. But it was long buried, a vague and useless memory, the briefest whisper of a moment in a grand life that spanned generations. Why, _why, WHY_ couldn't I forget?

Why was the Queen so silent?

I turned the full force of my burning gaze on her sweet face. "Why did you bring me here?"

"The door required two Heroes to demonstrate pure passion," she replied evenly. "You and I are the only Heroes in Albion today. It would not open for anyone else."

"Why not go inside without me once it opened? Why not send me back to the castle and give me this little gift later?"

"There are things I want you to see. Things I believe you _need_ to see. I love my people, Reaver. And you have been hurting them for a long, long time."

"Have I indeed? How very naughty of me."

"I thought this place might give you a bit of perspective. Open your eyes, Reaver. If ever there was proof that time is not linear, that death is therefore _not_ the end of all things, it is surely here before you."

What nonsense. I spun the pistol deftly around one finger, marveling at its balance. "What exactly is your point, Your Majesty?"

She plucked the rose from her hair and held it out to me. "In the world we come from, a bullet fired from a gun of that caliber would have pulverized this flower. You know that. Yet here it is, safely intact. This world operates under laws that do not conform to our own. While we are here, _we_ conform to _them_."

"I don't suppose the fact that I am a superb marksman could have something to do with it?" I asked dryly.

In answer, she snatched the whirling gun from my hands, pointed it at my heart, and fired. The deep boom of the shot rang out and the hot smell of gunpowder stung my nose. I staggered backward, clutching at my chest in shock. But…there was no blood. I looked down slowly. My vest was marred by a powder burn from the extreme proximity of the shot, but there was no wound.

Queen Rose gave me a satisfied look, pressing the pistol into my numb hands. "You tell me."

* * *

I could not sleep. When we returned to Albion, the sun was setting again. Queen Rose had taken me through the Cullis Gate and escorted me to my chambers, bidding me good night and disappearing into the darkness. I received a visit from the wine-bearer soon after, but I was in no mood for company. I sat before the fire, sipping at my third glass of wine—or was it my fifth? I was trying to come to grips with what I had seen.

To allow the business with the demon doors to frighten me would be ridiculous, and I would not do it. The knowledge that other worlds and other realities existed was not so terrible. I was not even really upset with the Queen for _shooting_ me. What troubled me was the sensation I had experienced there, the feeling of renewal, of youth. The proximity of my past. It was almost as if it was still there, lurking behind one of the many doors in the clearing.

My new pistol lay in my lap, and I lost myself for a while in the play of the firelight over its shining surface. Queen Rose had identified it as the _Paramour_, a firearm that was priceless in every sense of the word. It fired .50 caliber rounds and came with a peculiar detachable tube which, according to Rose, would allow the user to kill in near silence. In the hands of Heroes, it also doused its victims with fire under certain conditions. Evidently it had a long and bloody history, which I found quite fitting, considering my own.

"_This is the lesser of your rewards_," Rose had said before she left me. "_The true prize is still to come_."

_Rose_. I rolled the wine over my tongue, savoring its flavor and its potency. I could take my new weapon and all the gold I had accumulated and simply leave for greener pastures. Try something _new_; build a less complicated life for myself far away from the Queen and her disturbing machinations. But…_nothing_ was new, anymore. Not in Albion. Not in Samarkand, or Aurora, or the other countless lands I had visited over the centuries. It was all dust to me.

Come to think of it, when was the last time I had passed up the opportunity to have my way with someone like the comely wine-bearer, who, despite her matrimonial status, was all too willing to warm my bed? A few hours with her would probably have put my mind at ease with no trouble, at all. Yet I had sent her away without a glance and I had no real desire to summon her back. I drained my glass, throwing my head back to catch the last drops. The bottle was empty.

_Rose_, _Rose, Rose. _My mind, swimming in wine, was helpless against the barrage of images, scents, and tastes of _Rose_. The memory of her touch was strongest of all. It was as if my very blood was urging me toward her. Perhaps there was more truth in that than I previously realized. We were the only Heroes in Albion, as she had said. Was it not natural for a species to do its utmost to perpetuate itself? But if so, why had I not found her mother—or that enormous cow, _Hammer_, the Hero of Strength—so inescapable? I had not been interested in either of them whatsoever. But Rose…she was a siren singing a song written specifically for my ears. And, like a siren, she was lethal—again, particularly to me. I knew I ought to stay away from her. It was time to leave this bloody castle and go home again. She could keep her damned rewards and her throne. I was not suited to the confines of monarchy, anyway. I was a free man, wandering wherever I wished, taking whatever I wished. I was leaving. I picked up the Paramour and stuffed it clumsily into the holster at my hip. It was all I really needed. I threw open the doors and made my slow way down the stone stairs of the tower with one hand against the wall for support.

And then I realized that I was walking toward her bedroom. _Botheration!_

There were no guards at her door. None.

_How is it that she always knows what I'm going to do before _I _know it_?

I paused before the doors, perplexed by a fierce golden light that shone for the barest instant between the cracks. I thought I caught a glimpse of some sort of symbol or shape, but it was gone before I could be certain. At any rate, the lack of guards was a clear invitation, so I did not bother to knock. I kicked the doors open and entered the room.

All of her windows were open. A cool breeze stirred the sheer curtains and battered the guttering flames of several dozen cream-colored candles scattered about the room. Rose stood near one of the windows, draped in exquisitely fine lace and illuminated by the candelabra she held in her left hand. I thought I could just make out the rapidly fading azure of a web of recently activated Will lines on her slender body, but I may have been mistaken. In any case, I really did not care.

"You've been expecting me." It was not a question.

She nodded.

I closed the doors behind me and locked them. "What _are_ you doing, _Your Majesty_?" I demanded, brazenly crossing the room in several long, swift strides and taking the candles out of her hand. I dropped them roughly on a nearby table, then turned to face her again. "You say that I have hurt your beloved _people_, and you have opposed me at every turn since you took the throne. You have absolutely no reason to keep me in this castle, beyond some sort of mad Heroic nonsense. You _hate_ me. You hate everything I _stand_ for. You grew up without a _mother _because of me! So I ask again, and do _please_ answer me, my sweet: _what are you doing_?"

Rose, normally so composed, was finally showing signs of strain under the onslaught of my wrath. She stood very still, but her breast heaved with each breath and her nostrils flared. Her dark eyes shimmered faintly with tears, but she did not allow any to fall. Of _course_ she would not cry, this paragon of virtue and strength. I raked my fingers through my disheveled hair, and then let my hands fall limply at my sides, disgusted. I could not win. I simply could not win.

"I don't hate you," she said quietly. "You must know that."

"No, I don't suppose you hate _anyone_, do you?" I fumed. "Not even your brother, who forced you to execute your _beloved_. Not _Theresa_, who played _puppeteer_ with your life and very nearly got you killed. Not the people, who pay _no_ taxes, who drink the sweat from _your_ brow and still demand _more_ with every passing day. Do you know, I have heard rumors of _democracy_ circulating about Bowerstone. After all you have sacrificed, many of those degenerates would see you _sacked _and your castle _burned_!"

"I know. Reaver, I _know_." She took my face in both of her hands and pressed her brow against mine. Her skin was cool and smooth, and I gradually came back to myself.

"If you know all of this," I said deliberately, "then why do you care about them—about any of it? You could destroy them all, take what is yours by rights, and have done with it."

"Sit down. I will answer all of your questions, right now. Your points are valid. And I want you to understand me."

She guided me to the edge of her enormous bed, smoothed away a crease in the duvet, and motioned for me to sit. I did so, feeling enormously weary. I realized that I had not slept at all since my first night in the castle.

Rose reached for a silver pitcher, poured something into a chalice, and handed it to me. I brought it to my lips at once, then made a face. It was _water_.

"Yes, I believe you have had quite enough wine this evening," she said, smiling at my disappointment. "You're very lucky I'm not my brother. I shudder to think what he would have done in this situation."

I snorted. "He might have entertained the idea of having me shot for my insolence, but fortunately for me, I'm _far_ too useful an individual to waste on the firing squad."

"That is very true," she conceded. "And since we are already on that subject, I will begin with Logan. When our mother died, Logan was barely old enough to sit a pony. I'm told that his father was so stricken by grief over her passing that he scarcely gave a thought to anything but hardening himself and his son against anything that might hurt them again. I was lucky. I had Walter—_my_ father, though he did not know it until after Mother died. Walter took great care to raise me to be not only strong, but _good_. It is possible that he had less success with Logan because he knew he was another man's child. We are none of us perfect, and biases form all too easily."

I watched her carefully, noting the habit she had of pinching the flesh between her thumb and forefinger with her other hand when she was anxious or unhappy. It was a subtle tell, but a tell nevertheless.

"After Elliot's death, I thought I hated Logan. A part of me wanted to see him dead, and as you saw, that opportunity presented itself in time. The people were screaming for his execution when I took the throne. My decision to spare him that day was not popular. But I knew that I could not hate him, and I could not kill him. Logan's actions taught me that hatred is a weakness. A sickness of the mind. It leaves no room for logic or reason. Had I given in to my anger that day, we would have lost all of the soldiers still loyal to him, which would have damaged our chances in the war against the Crawler."

"That is all very sensible and I cannot dispute your logic from a strategic point of view. But what could have possibly possessed you to choose the lives of three protesters over the life of the man you loved? I was _there_, my pet. I saw them. They were violent, and they meant your brother harm. From a purely legal standpoint, you cannot deny that they were committing _treason_, for which the punishment is _death_."

"That was Elliot's decision," she answered softly, looking away. "He wanted to save them at any cost. I hadn't the right to deny him the dignity of his choice."

I shook my head in wonder. Were there no moral heights to which she would not leap for the sake of her conscience? Perhaps she _enjoyed_ suffering. "And the seer?"

"Theresa…" Rose chuckled a little and brushed a hand over her eyes. "Oh, I was _very_ angry with her, at first. It was just after Logan's trial, when he told me what she had not—about the Darkness. I confronted her. I felt used, yes, and I was completely uncertain of my ability to salvage something from the mess into which she had so artfully tossed me. But that is her way, and I now know that it was the _right_ way. The pressure made me stronger. Just as a chick must break through its shell on its own in order to survive, I had to fight every day just to become a match for the Crawler."

"So the ends justify the means, do they?" I asked scornfully. "I thought you closed down my factories because you don't _subscribe_ to that particular belief."

"Sometimes they do. We must examine each situation carefully in order to make that judgment. Life is not black and white. There is always some evil in what is good, and there is always some good in what is evil." Her eyes lingered on mine, holding my gaze firmly with their conviction. "It is true that I could lay waste to the entirety of Albion in a very short amount of time and with only a little effort. But I won't. Ever. Albion's wellbeing and the happiness of its people…these are proof that every moment of my family's suffering was—and continues to be—worthwhile." She knelt beside me on the bed, her lace robe pooling around her, her eyes bright with the quiet strength of her beliefs. "Now do you understand?"

I did. This woman was everything I was not. She had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. No matter how powerful she was, I knew that it would kill her, just as it had killed her mother. I was beginning to realize that it was not something I could bear to watch. It sickened me.

"Albion does not deserve you," I whispered.

"Who can truly say what is or is not deserved?"

"_I _can. I have seen enough to be sure of it. You are ephemeral, my dear. A bright little flower dying a slow death in the desert. The world will suck you dry and _bury_ you."

"Perhaps. But the advantage of mortality lies in the constant motivation to _act_. I fully intend to leave this world in better condition than I found it. I brought you here to help me achieve that. I…I need your help, Reaver, as I have never needed it before."

I sighed and pulled her into my lap, burying my face in the sweet darkness of her hair. "Oh, you foolish, utterly naïve, idiot girl!" I groaned. "Don't you see that it is people like _me_ who will end you? You know perfectly well what I am."

"I do," she murmured against my cheek, wrapping her arms around me. To my complete shock, I felt hot tears that were definitely not mine between our faces. "I _do_ know. That is why you are here. That is why I need you to stay."

"I don't know exactly what you expect of me, but I refuse to watch you destroy yourself because of some ridiculous, idealistic fantasy. It is _folly, _and you are a fool," I said harshly, tightening my hold on her. Her body shook with the sobs she was struggling to hold in. With one hand, I reached into her robe and loosened the lacings of her corset, allowing her more room to breathe. "Now, why are you crying?" I demanded.

"Because I was right," she answered, hitching in short breaths as she struggled to calm herself. "I was right about you, and I am so relieved."

"My dear girl, that is pure _nonsense_. I must chalk it up to the late hour and a _lifetime_ of intimacy problems. But as luck would have it, I believe I have just the thing to succor _both_ of us. Hmmhmm. Now, why don't you dry your tears and let me show you how life is _meant_ to be lived?"

I was not at all properly dressed and did not have a handkerchief with me, so I whipped my silk cravat from around my neck with practiced fluidity and gave it to her. Rose dabbed at her eyes and smiled gratefully, completely at ease now. Her dark eyes were shining with warmth and affection, and even though I could not begin to understand _why _she felt this way, I did find that I appreciated the sight very much. She also had some color, for once, a flush that began at her chest and spread across her vibrant face. It was a very good look, indeed, and the knowledge that _I _had inspired it was enormously satisfying.

I slid the lace robe over her shoulders and down her arms, baring them slowly so as to savor my victory and allow the tension between us to simmer. Rose had other ideas, however. Her fingers were at my shirt, fumbling clumsily with the small buttons. Had she never undressed a man, before? Perhaps it was only nerves. Regardless, I paused to help her, finally pulling the shirt over my head in my impatience. Then, after a few deft movements with my hands, the laces of her corset flew out of their holes with a telltale whistle that was pure music to my ears. I tore the rest of it away, dropping it on the floor on top of my shirt. I could not look away for even the briefest moment. Rose, bare to the waist with candlelight dancing over her glowing skin, was the most glorious creature I had ever laid eyes on. The cool night air from the open windows gave rise to goosebumps and the tightening of her small, pink, _perfect_ nipples. I took one into my mouth at once and cupped her other breast in my hand, massaging it expertly with my thumb. Her gasps of pleasure sent waves of agonizing need through my body. I was _burning alive_ with it.

One of her hands tangled itself in my hair as she arched toward me. The other stroked my chest, the flat plane of my stomach, and finally came to rest achingly on the hardened length of my manhood. It throbbed in response to her touch, and she squeezed it gently, almost tentatively. I lifted my head from her breast and groaned with pleasure, reaching down to cover her hand with mine and move it gently in a stroking motion. She took my lead and then went a step further, unfastening my pants and reaching inside. The moment I felt her fingers close around me, my entire body stiffened and I very nearly lost my head. I had to regain myself, or this would be terribly embarrassing. Too little sleep. Too much wine.

"One moment, my dear," I whispered against her neck. "Allow me."

Taking care to plant slow, hot kisses on her cool skin, I moved steadily downward, tracing her ribs with my fingers and her belly with my tongue. I bit lightly into her hip and she let out a breathy cry that made my every nerve tingle. Her underwear was accented by a delicate garter belt and silk stockings. After doing away with the scandalously flimsy lace briefs, I carefully removed the stockings one at a time, kissing and nibbling at every new area of exposed flesh, until I reached her ankles. These I put over my shoulders, and I suddenly felt her body tense—not with pleasure, but with fear.

I kissed her calf, then her knee, then caressed the smoothness of her inner thigh. "Not to worry," I murmured. "I will enjoy this every bit as much as you will, I promise you. You have nothing to be ashamed of, my dove. You are exquisite. And this will make things much easier for you."

Bloody hell, she was a _virgin_. I worried a bit about that. My member was quite sizeable, both in length and girth, and there was really no way to keep from hurting her. But I would try to ease the process by making her as ready for me as she could possibly be.

I went to work on the bud of her womanhood, teasing her with my tongue and relishing the taste of her as she writhed above me, too far gone to be ashamed or nervous. I brought her to orgasm twice before I introduced my finger, and she gasped as it entered her, seeking out that one perfect place below her naval. I heard a muffled cry—she was biting her hand to stifle the noise. _Ah yes, there it is_.

I could have tormented her like this for hours, but she would not allow it. She pulled my head upward until we were at eye level and I was supporting the bulk of my weight above her. Then she kissed me, hard and deeply, and I had to draw a few ragged breaths before I could steady myself.

"Now?" she asked, her eyes glazed, her pupils dilated.

"Now," I agreed. "This…this will hurt, my dear. But it will get better. _Much_ better."

She nodded and smiled. "_Please_. I've been shot, stabbed, burned, and electrocuted. I think I can handle it."

I chuckled. "Well, my brave little Heroine, I think you will find that this is an altogether different animal. But I will be gentle." Then I slowly guided myself into her. She winced as I penetrated her, and a grimace of pain flashed over her face for a moment. I kissed her tenderly, giving her time to adjust to me, then pressed further inward. Our hips touched. I paused again, waiting for her. After a few moments, she ground her hips against mine, and I let out a sharp breath at the feel of her tight, slick heat sliding against me. Under my careful guidance, we moved together in perfect synchronicity, each of my thrusts eliciting a cry of rapture from her lovely lips, now swollen and red with arousal and kisses that were growing increasingly fierce. All at once, I felt every muscle in her body spasm, and her fingers and toes curled as she climaxed. It went on for nearly a minute. I tried to hold on, to resist the urge to lose control while she thrashed in ecstasy below me. But I could not. The sight, the sounds, the _feel_ of her…I felt a deep shudder running through my core and I withdrew immediately to spill my seed on her perfect stomach, gasping and shaking.

With a moan of absolute bliss, I rolled onto my back, enjoying the feel of the night air as it cooled and dried the sweat on my body. Rose was doing the same thing beside me, her breaths growing deeper and steadier, now.

"Well," I said brightly as soon as I'd caught my breath. "Shall we have a bath, Your Majesty?"


	6. Chapter 6: Power

I woke slowly, luxuriating in the smoothness of silk sheets against my bare skin and the warmth of the sun on my face. In that moment, I could not think of a single reason to move from this spot ever again. I would simply have my meals brought to me…perhaps a book or half a dozen dancing-girls now and again, whenever the mood took me. I felt as though I were floating, still heady with last night's wine and the generous ministrations of the Queen. I had taken her again in the bath, quite unable to help myself when I saw the bubbles sliding down her back, and the insatiable minx had demanded _more_ when we fell back into bed. I felt myself stiffening again at the memory and smiled contentedly. It was time to wake her.

She was sleeping quietly beside me, her tangled hair a dark halo around her head. Her face was utterly peaceful. It made me realize that although she appeared unflappably serene most of the time, it was a complete farce. And how could it be otherwise? Her philosophy did not leave room for pleasure, wherein _real_ peace was plentiful if one simply knew how to seize it.

Speaking of which…

I lifted the sheet carefully, taking several moments to savor the view I had revealed. Rose was long and lean and round in all of the right places, simultaneously hard and soft. Here was a vision that no man but I had ever seen, though surely every man in Albion—and many _women_, too—dreamed of it. That was too bad for them. Normally, I found a great deal of gratification in sharing and being shared, but I did not much care for the thought of doing so in this case. Was this _jealousy_? Surely not. No, it was simply the knowledge that the Queen, with her oh-so-high-minded sentiments of morality and honorable behavior, would not likely be interested in adding a few playmates…which _was_ fortunate, because the Queen herself was so entirely captivating that any other bedfellows would surely feel rather left out. Yes, it would be best for now to keep her to myself. Perhaps later…well…we would see.

There was a light rapping at the doors, and a muffled voice I had come to loathe disturbed my ruminations. "Your Majesty? It is well past noon…are you unwell? Your Majesty? Shall I send for your physician?"

Hobson. Curse the man. I planted a light kiss on Rose's shoulder, swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and strode quickly to the double doors. I opened them rather violently, and the little man took several startled steps backward, his wide eyes traveling rapidly over my _very _impressive, _very_ naked body.

"Good afternoon, Hobson!" I said with a predatory smile. "The Queen is _quite_ well, thank you, although I think we shall both be wanting some sort of breakfast an hour or two from now. Now, do be a lamb and _go away_. Tatty-bye!"

I slammed the doors in his podgy, scandalized face, hoping that by this time tomorrow all of Bowerstone would be buzzing with delicious rumors of my dalliance with the Queen. What a conquest! Thanks to Hobson, I had very efficiently staked my claim. Anyone who wanted her now would know that he or she would need to contend with _me_, first. I turned back to the bed and saw with no real surprise that she was now awake, sitting up in bed with the sheet wrapped modestly around her.

"Ah, my dear Queen," I sighed. "Awake at last. You look positively ravishing, my darling. I've just booked a bit of room service. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," she answered smoothly, a glint of mischief in her lovely eyes. "Hobson is a despicable man, but he is renowned for his absolute discretion. That is why I keep him around. The secrets rattling around in that man's bald head…" she shook her own head, smiling. "But I'm glad you gave him a bit of a scare. I think it might be good for him. He has been growing so indolent now that the war is over."

I opened my mouth, closed it, then frowned. "You trust him, then, to keep this to himself? Tongues do have a tendency to wag."

"Tongues which are well-paid know better."

_Bugger_. Well, I would find someone to slip a word in the right ear. It was all the same to me. I slid back into bed and pulled her into my lap, stroking her knee with one hand and twirling a lock of her hair in the other. "Well, I'm afraid we won't be getting our breakfast for at least another hour, Your Majesty. Whatever shall we do to fill our time?"

"Time…it all comes down to time," she sighed, stretching languidly against me. I tensed with momentary pleasure as her weight shifted in my lap. My blood was up again. I nibbled gently at the nape of her neck and tugged at a handful of her hair. She allowed her head to be pulled backward to rest on my shoulder, and I bent to kiss her deeply, hungrily. She moaned softly into my mouth and rocked her hips, gently stroking my manhood with her own wonderfully soft, rapidly warming parts. After a few moments, I put my hands on her hips and entered her.

"_Ahhhh_…" I closed my eyes, simply holding her there for a time, reveling in the sensation of being inside her. My fingers trailed across her belly, between her breasts, and finally over her hips…I gripped them firmly, lifted her a few inches, then brought her down again, _hard_. I swallowed her surprised cry and ground my hips against her in a slow circle before repeating the motion. Her eyelids fluttered, and she opened her mouth wide. I let her scream of approbation echo through the room, grazing my teeth over her neck with a little growl. I didn't need Hobson to spread word about my conquest. Every man and woman in the castle would hear it from the Queen's own lips!

* * *

As much as I appreciated Rose _sans_ clothing, I found that there was a certain appeal in watching her dress, as well. Her every move was so very elegant; her posture, perfect. As she combed the tangles from her hair, I could almost see her becoming _Queen_ Rose again, donning the shining, untainted armor of pure regality as only she could. Her features betrayed no real emotion, and yet somehow remained warm and pleasing. I had stormed her walls and torn them down, and she was now repairing them in preparation for the rest of the world. I lay on the bed, absolutely spent. Our breakfast had never come, but I could not have cared less. I was quite content.

"I have some…matters of state to attend to," she said, smoothing her dress—white as the driven snow, as always; it seemed to be her favorite color. "You are welcome to stay here if you like. Hobson is sure to see to your needs. I'll be occupied for the rest of the day, in all likelihood."

"I'm sure I'll find something to do," I replied lazily.

"Apply your wicked mind to the task, then. I will expect a report, and I do not like to be bored." She tossed me a smile and left the room.

The moment the doors closed, I saw a flash of that peculiar golden light again, or _thought_ that I did... I groaned and rubbed my eyes with my knuckles, rolling and stretching, spread-eagled on the enormous bed. _Rose_. Her lovely scent was everywhere, here. It was intoxicating. I really was finding it difficult to _think_, lately, and was uncertain as to what I ought to do, next. How _did _one top taking the virtue of a Hero Queen? Last night I had been so ready to abandon my designs on the throne, but the idea was fast becoming even more appealing than ever.

A glint of gold caught my eye, and I lifted my head sleepily. Her crown was sitting on a writing desk. With a yawn, I slowly pulled myself up on my elbows and gazed at it. Strange that she would leave for matters of _state_ without that incredibly key piece of her ensemble. I sighed. I sincerely hoped that she did not intend to continue with her bizarre new hobby of _scheme-hatchery_. Surely I had provided her with a much better way to occupy her time. I slid out of bed and walked to the desk, lifting the crown in my hands. _Matters of state, _indeed. More likely, she was up to no good, messing about with demon doors and magical portals, perhaps hunting up more ways to be cryptic and mysterious about the _help_ she claimed to need from me. I still had no idea what she was on about. The Kingdom was _peaceful_. I hesitated, then slowly put the crown on my head. It was far too small; it simply sat on top of my hair, rather lopsided.

Behind me, the latch was lifted and one of the doors creaked open. I chuckled.

"_Forget_ something, did we?" I sneered, smirking. "Honestly, my dear, you really _must _learn how to _lie_ more convincingl—oh!"

I had assumed that only royalty could pass into these chambers without knocking, and in that, I was quite correct...but I was looking at one monarch I really hadn't expected to meet again. And he was…ah…_not_ pleased.

"Your _Majest—_er_…_Logan! Or is it Your Royal _Highness_, now?" I snatched the crown from my head and put it back on the desk hurriedly, but there was not much I could do about my nudity. "Do you get demoted back to Prince when you are deposed? I've never really had an opportunity to sort out the intricacies of, erm…that."

The former King's eyes were black with outrage—a look I was actually quite accustomed to seeing on his face, usually _just_ before he had people executed. For a few moments, he simply stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw set so hard that the tendons in his neck stood out like cords. Then he turned, closed the door, and rounded on me once more.

"_Why_. Are _YOU_. In _this_. _Room_!" he hissed, trembling with fury. His thin face was almost purple, now.

"Ah heh…yes, now that _is_ the proper question, isn't it?" I moved toward the pile of clothes where my new firearm lay buried. "Who can keep up with the business of _titles_ these days?"

He advanced several steps, and his hand went to his own pistol. "_Answer me_!"

I sighed. I so _hated_ being shot. "I was _invited_ here, by the Queen. And how could I refuse? I am her loyal servant. _Surely_ you can understand my plight?"

Logan's eyes were going to pop from their sockets if he was not careful. A large vein throbbed in his temple as he struggled with what he was seeing and hearing.

"I assure you, Logan, I was every _inch_ the gentleman."

"YOU _BEDDED_ MY _SISTER_?!"

Logan launched himself at me with a roar, landing a surprisingly solid jab to my left eye and a wild haymaker to my ribcage. I had to let him. It gave me the freedom to rip his pistol from its holster as he moved, pivot away, and point it at his chest. He seemed not to care. He simply stared at me, heaving like a winded bull and continuing to scream into my face.

"My _sister_, Reaver! MY _SISTER!_"

My eye was beginning to swell shut. Oh, he would _pay_ for that. I smiled fiendishly at him. "Yes, your _sister_. Your _sweet_…_little_…_sister_. I had her…" I paused to recall the figure. "Four times, actually. We were awake all through the night, and then this afternoon, well…the mood struck me again. I do hope she does not have to do a great deal of walking today…or _sitting_, actually. Really, she ought to have stayed in bed. It was her first time, after all, and I, well…" I placed one hand over my heart. "I am _me_."

"You will be hanged for this," he snarled. "I will see you _dead_!"

"Will you really? Remind me, please…what exactly is your title, now?"

He glared incredulously at me, as though he was not entirely sure what he was hearing. His nostrils flared with every labored breath and his teeth were bared in a grimace of pure malice. But he could not answer, because he knew I had him. He was _nothing_, now. The Queen may not have spilled his blood for his crimes, but his life was over. Albion despised him. Albion did not want him. There were still some army recruitment posters that bore his likeness scattered around Bowerstone and Brightwall. Most of these paper-Logans had had their eyes torn out by the peasants. He was _dust_.

"I think you ought to run along, now. If you have a message for the Queen, you may entrust it to me. On my honor as a _gentleman_, I swear that she will receive it when she returns. It is _so_ important for family to keep in _touch_."

Logan stared down the barrel of his own pistol, reached into his vest pocket, and pulled out a sealed letter. I held out my hand, but he swatted it away and went to Rose's desk. He picked up the crown, studied his reflected image for an instant, then put it on top of the letter. Then he stormed away to the doors, not bothering to try to retrieve his gun. He looked back at me for a long moment, and then he was gone, slamming the door behind him. I put the pistol on the desk beside the crown and the letter and sighed. It had been so gratifying to torment him. Gratifying, yes, but perhaps unwise. It was true that he had nothing. No power, no supporters, no ties to anything…and that was trouble. I had been marked by a man with nothing to lose.


	7. Chapter 7: Ghosts

**Thank you all for your kind reviews! Fans of Logan might especially enjoy this chapter. :) Let me know what you think!**

From the Diary of Jasper:

(Recorded in the Sanctuary)

_Queen Rose has found the…"focal point" she has spent so long searching for. I haven't the slightest idea what it actually is, but I have never seen her so happy in all of my life. She shivered with excitement while she told me of the full month she spent studying it, learning how to unlock the doors inside it—but that is surely impossible, because she only found it yesterday. I have a theory, and it frightens me. After Sir Walter's death, Rose came to me and asked me what I knew about the Will spells her mother had learned over the course of her life. She was almost feverish, poring over diaries that made no sense upon close inspection, considering the old Queen's unnaturally brief life. Queen Sparrow accomplished so much in the short amount of time she was allowed to live. I always assumed that it was because, well…she was a Hero. According to what Rose has told me, I was partially correct. But there is more to it than that. Queen Sparrow owed her supernatural speed to a Will spell that was meant for use in combat—she could, for a brief stretch, control Time, itself. It made her faster than lightning in a fight, and now I know that it also gave her the ability to do in thirty years what ought to have taken a century. Industrial revolution, the nearly overnight development of the Brightwall Academy and the magical chambers beneath it, the invention of new Cullis Gates, and this Sanctuary…countless other things we may not even know about. And the mystery does not end there. She…_knew_ things. She left the Book of Heroes in the Sanctuary, along with a note with my name on it, which I would not find until nearly twenty years after her death. She told Samuel, the librarian of Brightwall, that a challenger bearing the Guild Seal would come to open the Reliquary, and that is exactly what happened. I now suspect that she discovered a way to _truly _control Time, at least partially, rather than simply slowing it. If that is true, and if her daughter has also learned how to do this, I scarcely know what the future will hold for Albion. I can only pray that Rose uses this new power with utmost care. She is walking in the footsteps of the gods, now. If legends are to be believed at all, that does not end well for mortals._

I had bathed again, dressed, eaten, and plied myself with wine, and still the Queen had not returned. The sun was hanging low in the sky, tongues of pink and orange fire bleeding into the horizon. I was beginning to feel the first stirrings of impatience. I wanted very much to know what she was doing. Despite her many pleasant attributes, she had a nasty little knack for rattling me at my core, and I did not like mysteries.

My eyes wandered over to the letter Logan had left on her desk.

_Oh, why not._

I picked up a bright little pen knife and carefully prized the wax seal from the paper. Satisfied that I had left no damage, I opened the letter and smoothed it out on the desk. The sight of Logan's tight, cramped handwriting gave me a touch of nostalgia; he was _such_ a tense fellow. It showed in everything he did.

_Your Majesty, _it read, with predictable stiffness. _I have indeed been receiving your letters. The royal courier is not to blame for my silence. I simply found that I could not bring myself to open them when they first arrived. I know it was foolish, and by the strictest definition of the law, you could have me arrested for ignoring the summons of my Queen. But Rose, I told you that Albion would heal better without me. Have I not done enough, already? With respect, my returning to live with you would be a mistake. The people love you, sister, but I must remind you of their cries of rage when you decided to spare my life. You stole from them the opportunity to avenge themselves and their loved ones, harmed or killed by my commands. My shadow must never darken the castle's halls again. Do you not see that? You are_ _the _Queen_, now, and you must harden yourself against those things which would threaten your position and your plans. It is not easy, I know. I tried so hard to shield you from this burden, to let you have the childhood that I never experienced. It never occurred to me that I was walking the path of folly until it was too late. I should have spent more time with you; perhaps your goodness would have rubbed off on me. Instead, I attacked you in exactly the place I knew you to be the most vulnerable—your heart, your unfaltering compassion for others—thinking that it would make you stronger. Perhaps it did. But please believe that I would do anything to take it back, now. I still find it astonishing that you actually miss me, when you ought to hate me for what I've done. I have dishonored our mother's memory. I am a monster. I see that, now. And it is because of you that my eyes have opened, dear sister. You never knew her, but you are so like our mother. Your goodness, your gentle heart, your personal sacrifices—all of the very same things that made her so strong a leader are very much alive in you. And I _must be_ one of those sacrifices, Rose. You must let me go, for Albion's sake. You cannot save everyone. That is one lesson you seem unwilling to learn. Even now, as I write this, I know that you will ignore my requests. It is in your nature. But I am duty-bound to make them, regardless, for your sake and the sake of the people. Turn your back on me, Rose. Let the people forget me. Let yourself forget me. I once thought of Albion as mine, as the most precious thing in my existence, but that is not true. It is _you_. There is nothing that matters more to me than you. You must abandon me and live your life. I love you, and I always will. Let me have only that, and I will find peace._

_L._

I refolded the letter slowly, tapping it against my chin. "Logan, Logan, you poor fool," I sighed. Rose would _never_ turn her back on him. She would never stop trying to heal his broken spirit, and she would never stop loving him. She seemed to believe that if she tried hard enough, she could salvage something from virtually any disaster. Logan knew this as well as I did. We had both watched her grow up, after all, albeit from a distance. But he was wrong about one thing—Sparrow had been an admirable, dynamic, virtuous woman, indeed, but she was also quite damaged, and with those damages came vices, fears, and weaknesses, though they were not easy to detect. Hero or not, she was still _human_. Logan was judging himself based on a _fantasy_. They both were. Sparrow's ghost was haunting her children.

I heated the wax and resealed the letter. No one would ever know that it had been tampered with. I was an old hand at subterfuge and deception. But I could not help but feel dissatisfied. The letter had contained nothing I did not already know and it would very likely cause Rose significant heartache. She would be in no mood for play tonight.

"Do you see what you've done, Sparrow?" I called acidly, raising my wine glass to the ceiling. "Your children are torturing each other. I do hope the Crown was worth it. Cheers."

_Do you see what you've done_?

Not Sparrow…

Me.

I did this.

"_Preposterous_," I muttered to myself. "She made her own choice. It didn't have to be _her_. The Judges demand only one life. The village girl was already there. It is not _my_ fault that the fool woman took it upon herself to be a martyr."

The wine seemed to turn sour in my mouth. I did not want anymore. My dark mood was returning, as it always did when I allowed myself to dwell on the past. I put my coat over my arm and pulled the doors open, storming through a thicket of startled guards. I walked past the open doors of the empty Throne Room, down the long stairway, and out into the Royal Gardens. Logan's horrid statue glared down at me, pointing in the general direction of the tower that housed my temporary quarters—Rose's former room, where she had spent much of her young life. I made my way to it, trotting up the stone steps and throwing the door open with a sharp bang. A chambermaid gave a startled squeak and clutched at her featherduster, all wide blue eyes and wider hips. She recovered herself, curtsied, and hurried for the doorway.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir. I was told you'd be away. I'll go."

I caught her arm before she could escape. "I don't think you will, actually. I think you will _stay_."

"Pardon, sir, but I'm—I'm expected in the kitchen."

My fingers tightened on her upper arm like a vice as she struggled. "Well, I suppose you're going to be _late_, then, aren't you, my pet?"

"Please let go, sir!" I caught a glimpse of my bruised face reflected in her shining eyes and saw something deadly there. She saw it, too. She cringed away from me, starting to cry, now. "I don't want any trouble, sir! I'll c-come back after, and I-I won't tell _no one_, I swear!"

"You will do no such thing. I can see it in your face: you are _lying_," I snarled, pushing her roughly away. She hit the wall with a keen scream and a popping sound and fell to the floor. I was so very _tired_ of the lies in this castle! I drew the Paramour and pointed it at the maid's red, blotchy face. She fell silent at once.

"Now listen to me very carefully," I said quietly. "You will not go to the kitchens tonight. You will stay here. You will not cry. You will not speak. You will do exactly as I tell you. Then, when I have finished with you, you will _leave_. Do you understand?"

She simply stared, her eyes and her nose streaming. Livid red welts were rising on her arm where I had squeezed it. Then her eyes widened even more, and she gasped at something behind me, wincing. I spun.

"C_ease your movement, in the name of the Queen!_"

I was staring into the black eyes of nine rifles.

"Drop your weapon, _now_!" I recognized Lance Corporal Tucker, one of the Queen's personal bodyguards, at the front of the phalanx. Lance Corporal Tucker, who had smiled with such satisfaction when his Queen had favored him with a private whisper. I now suspected the nature of that whisper. She must have ordered him to watch me. He must have been bursting with pride at having caught me committing such a flagrant act of indiscretion.

"_Drop it_!" he repeated, pulling back the hammer of his rifle. "Or by Avo I will drop _you_."

There was no chance. At point blank range, not even I could hope to survive a firefight like this. All at once, my rage departed from me, and I felt hollow without it. I dropped the Paramour into the maid's lap.

"Take good care of that, won't you?" I said tonelessly. "It was a gift."

* * *

The castle dungeon had been renovated. It was no longer the dank, damp, stinking hole it had been under Logan's rule, and Sparrow's. It was clean, well-lit, mildly comfortable, and the food was plain, but good. It was not a place of punishment anymore. It was simply a cage that prevented dangerous people from hurting anyone.

The turnkey opened my cell wordlessly and stood back. Queen Rose took his place, almost too tall to pass through the doorway without bowing her head. Her face was whiter than I had ever seen it, her lips pressed in a tight line of silent, barely-contained outrage.

"You may leave us, Mr. Norris," she said softly.

Norris bowed, put his keys back on his belt, and departed.

"Do you really know the name of every servant you keep?" I asked archly.

An explosion of white-hot pain blinded me as she slapped the bruised side of my face, _hard_.

"They are _people_, Reaver," she said, pulsing with azure flares of Will that climbed from her ankles to streak across her pale face. "You have no right to treat them like _livestock_."

I tried to clear the spots from my eyes, blinking my good eye rapidly. My left ear was ringing. "So, it is safe to assume that you heard about the chambermaid, then."

"Her name is _Lillian_."

"Remarkable. Truly, I don't know how you do it, Your Majesty. I have trouble remembering what I had for _breakfast_ most of the time."

"You broke her collarbone in two places and separated her shoulder when you threw her against the wall," she said, her eyes blazing with angry tears. "I've been told there is a chance that she may not regain the full use of that arm. It hurts her simply to _breathe_."

"Well, I don't always know my own strength. Neither do you, come to think of it. I think you may have perforated my eardrum."

"Why did you do this, Reaver? What did she ever do to you?"

"Aren't you more interested in who blackened my eye? You missed a gentleman caller while you were out."

"Answer my question."

"It was your brother. His self-imposed exile has not much improved him. I gave him my word as a gentleman that I would deliver a message from him to you. He left it on your desk, along with his pistol. I see you've finally remembered your _crown_, so you've probably seen it already."

"_Answer me_!" she shouted. The room was aglow with the blue light of her rage. My hair stood on end, and I caught the static smell of ozone in the air. "Tell me why Lillian is lying in _agony_, unable to even _feed_ herself or use a _chamber_ _pot_ without someone to help her! Tell me why _she_ had to suffer!"

"Because _you_ could not keep her safe," I replied cuttingly. "Because it is _not possible_ to protect every man, woman, and child in Albion. People get hurt—that is _life_, my Queen, and all of your noble sacrifices and your Heroic gestures will not make a scrap of difference. Do you know why I lost my temper with _Lillian_? It is very simple: she was not _you_, and _you _were what I wanted. She was a casualty of _your_ idiotic idealism, the belief that if you are kind and generous enough, it will make the world a better place. Poor, sweet _Lillian_ paid the price for your arrogance."

I realized with morbid satisfaction that I had finally gone too far. Rose's breath caught in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut with a scream of mingled anger and anguish, and the little cell crackled with electricity. Two monstrous white shapes burst from her back, scattering downy feathers everywhere. I felt my jaw drop and my bowels loosen. They were wings. They filled the small space almost completely, pulsing with the same blue shapes that burned on her body. The Queen was panting hard, a fireball in one hand and a cluster of lightning in the other, her arms outstretched. Norris the turnkey was on his bottom, pressed against the far wall outside the cell, his eyes bulging.

_Do it_, a mad part of me thought. _Let this all end._

Queen Rose gritted her teeth and let out a moan of wretched misery, and the fire and lightning dissipated. Her arms dropped limply to her sides, and her wings drooped, fading slowly into nothingness. They were gone, and she was only Rose again, looking lost and broken. I realized that I had been holding my breath, and I let it out slowly. For a long while, we were silent.

At last, she spoke. Her voice was even, her words measured carefully. "Reaver, you are charged with the assault and battery of Lillian Tarley. I, Rose, Queen of Albion, after due consideration of evidence and of your willing confession, do find you guilty of this charge. Your assets will be seized and put in the custodial care of Ernest Faraday of Faraday Industries, who will manage Reaver Industries until you have repaid your debt to Albion. Your sentence is to be carried out immediately. You will serve this country in every capacity I deem necessary for a period of no less than two years. You are eligible for early parole if good behavior is demonstrated, and all of your assets will be returned to you at the end of your service. Do you understand the terms of this sentence as I have explained them to you?"

I gazed at her through my good eye. Her face was set in an expression of semi-divine detachment, but her eyes were soft with compassion. She was not going to harm me. As Logan had predicted, there was no changing her nature. She still believed she could save the world, and me with it. Now she had found a way to force me to allow her to try.

"Yes, I understand, Your Majesty. My life is in your hands."

* * *

From the Diary of Logan, Brother of the Queen of Albion:

(Recorded in the island community of Driftwood)

_My sister's response to my letter was already waiting for me inside my caravan when I returned from the castle. She had sent a white rose with it, which somehow had not even begun to wilt, though it is many hours ride from the castle to this remote place. Her message consisted of a single word gouged deeply into the paper in her graceful handwriting: _

_**Never**__._


	8. Chapter 8: Determination

From the Diary of Rose, Queen of Albion:

(Recorded in Bowerstone Castle)

_Lillian is asleep at last. I sat with her while the physician did what he could to help her. I did not know what to do except…hold her hand. The worst of it was that she believed she had somehow shamed herself in my eyes. I assured her that nothing could be farther from the truth. The hand that maimed her was not mine, but I am the reason she suffers now, all the same. I brought Reaver here. I have been trying to be gentle as I slowly reveal to him that I know who he is and where he came from. I thought it might spare him the shock. But I was a fool. Gentleness will not serve, here. There is only one way: I must break him down. But I am afraid to do it. I nearly ended his life with my own hands, and I saw in his eyes that a part of him wanted me to do it. I cannot risk becoming emotionally compromised again. I cannot allow myself to let him make me his executioner. He is now my prisoner, under my sentencing, under my protection. I must keep him close to me, always, as we face the shadows together. Forgive me, Walter…my father…I will not fail again. The Darkness will never claim another soul. I will live up to my mother's legacy and be the Queen you wanted me to be. But Avo…I wish Logan were here. If I could learn but a small measure of his toughness, his willingness to use any means in order to safeguard the nation, I would not be so afraid of doing what I must to turn this monster back into a man. But I cannot delay any longer. I have been using Mother's spell so much, and I am beginning to lose my sense of time, just as she did. It is all bleeding together, because it is all still there—the past, the present, the future—they are all the same. I was there when Reaver was born—I can see myself standing there. Part of me understands, and the other part insists that that is impossible, because I am here, in Lillian's room, writing this even as I am standing with him in the forest, watching the destruction. There will be so much pain before the end. But I have seen the new beginning, a bright dawn with no shadows…and it is so beautiful._

"Oi! Up you get, scum."

"And a fine early morning to you, too, Norris," I replied bitingly. "Should I remind you that I am a very influential man and, moreover, that I am not serving a life sentence? You _really must _consider your future." Surely the man did not think I would let him live once I was free. I abhorred rude hosts.

"I'm not afraid of the likes of you. Bowerstone is free, now." He pulled out his keys and unlocked my cell, but not before training his pistol on my face with his free hand. "You've got a visitor. Try anything funny, and I'll riddle you with holes."

I scoffed and shook my head, rolling my eyes toward the ceiling. "The tired line of a seasoned slop drudge."

Norris ignored my remark and stood back. The lights had been dimmed to give the prison the illusion of moonlight due to the hour, and but the silhouette of my visitor was one I recognized instantly. Broad shoulders, narrow at the hip and leg, hair slicked backward from his face… His hands were clasped behind his back as he stepped into the light of my lamp.

"_Logan_. Back so soon? Perhaps to admire your handiwork? Your sister added a contribution of her own, and I must say that it puts yours to _shame_." I still could not hear anything but a high-pitched ringing with my left ear. A crust of dried blood trailed from it and down my neck, _ruining_ my shirt.

Logan's eyes were like onyx. "So I see."

I waited for him to continue, but he simply glared at me.

"Logan, you have disturbed my beauty sleep, and I have had an _incredibly _long and unpleasant night, so if you have something to say, I must ask that you get on with it. If, on the other hand, you really _have _come simply to see my face, you will find that you may do so with great ease from outside my cell. I'm sure Mr. Norris can be convinced to bring you a chair."

To my surprise, he glanced back at Norris for the barest of moments. The turnkey was well-trained; he slipped into the warden's office and returned with a comfortable armchair, slightly winded. Logan exited the cell and Norris locked the door.

"I'll be in the office if you need me, Your Maj—er…"

"Thank you." The dismissal in his tone was clear as crystal. He had not lost his touch. The turnkey went into the office and shut the door behind him. Logan sat down in the chair in front of my cell, looking every inch the King he once was, even in his simple cotton clothing. His spine seemed to be made of steel. He crossed one leg regally over the other with his arms resting comfortably on the arms of the chair, his eyes boring into mine.

"Still haven't settled that _title _dilemma, I see," I said lightly, easing myself onto my side on my soft little bed. I propped myself up on one elbow, picking a fleck of my dried blood from my pillow and frowning at it.

"I did not come here to bandy insults with you, Reaver," he said coldly. "Officially, I am not here, at all. I am going to ask you several questions, and you will answer me honestly. I may not have an official title, but Mr. Norris is a loyal man who does not care much for the luxuries my sister has decided to provide her prisoners. He is of the old school of thought: that those who break the law should _suffer_ for their crimes, and he knows, as I do, that _accidents_ happen all the time in dark places like this. Do you understand? I have no time for your flippancy and I _will not_ tolerate it."

So, Queen Rose had no idea that he was here. But of course, knowing her, she would find out one way or another soon enough. "Ask your questions, Logan. I am tired."

He pulled a small box from his jacket pocket and opened it. Inside was a white flower—a rose. I bit back the urge to ask him if he had picked it just for me.

"This rose has been without water or sunlight for probably more than ten hours."

"Fascinating," I said, suppressing a yawn.

"It was sent to me, along with a message—a response to the letter I left for my sister this evening."

"It does seem to be a sort of signature for her," I said airily. "Quite fitting, and quite simple. What exactly is your question?"

"The flower is not wilting. And it arrived, along with the message, _before_ I reached my home. It is not possible that she could have sent it. She was not present to read the message when I gave it to you, and I left immediately. Do you not see the inconsistencies here?"

"Are you suggesting that someone watched you write your little message and forged a response, broke into your home, and gave you a magic flower?" I could not help but inject a bit of venom into my words. This was _absurd_. I had been woken for _this_?

"I have suggested _nothing_. You have been…" Here he paused, a muscle working in his jaw. "You have been in my sister's company, by your own account, for at least the last twenty-four hours. I am _told_ that you were seen together during the night before, as well, departing for the lower levels of the castle. You were not seen again for an entire day. What I am here to ask is the nature of your expedition."

"Believe me when I say that not even _I_ am entirely certain of that."

He looked at me sharply. "Explain."

I sighed. "Logan, I have no _idea_ what the Queen is up to. She dragged me through a Cullis Gate she claimed to have built herself. It led to a demon door in Mistpeak. We kissed, the door opened, we went through it, and she started rambling on about other worlds, the laws of time, and other cryptic nonsense, gave me a very lovely pistol, and then it was home again and into bed. The rest I have already told you, and I do not much feel like being struck by a member of the royal family three times in one night, so forgive me if I do not repeat myself."

Logan's eyes dropped to the rose in his lap, his brow furrowing. "What did you find inside this demon door?"

"Another world, according to your sister. She called it 'a door to other doors.' We were only inside for a few minutes, but when we came out again, it was the evening of the next day."

"Was there anything else?"

"Actually yes, I'd almost forgotten—she shot me."

"_Reaver_—"

I held up my hands. "No, no, this is not a jest, Logan. Look." I gestured to my vest, to the powder burn from the muzzle of the Paramour. Rose was destroying all of my clothing. "She shot me while we were in the, er, other world. But, due to some sort of cosmic…erm…well, as you can see, it did not harm me. I wish I could say the same about my waistcoat. It was a favorite."

Logan stood quickly and came closer to the bars, gazing at the powder burn in wonder. I had never seen him like this. It transformed him; he looked ten years younger without his trademark scowl. Suddenly, he gripped the bars and stared urgently into my eyes. "When you were with her, did you ever see—or imagine that you saw—a golden light or a ring of arcane symbols—for an instant?"

I cocked my head curiously at him. Never had I seen him so desperate, so vulnerable. He was almost pleading with me. "Twice," I answered slowly. "Once before I entered her chambers—it was a flash of golden light and a symbol of some sort, which I glimpsed for a moment between the cracks of the doors. And then again when she left me this afternoon, before you arrived. I dismissed it as a product of my insomnia."

The former King pressed his hands to his face, closing his eyes and taking long, slow, deep breaths. What little color he had was now gone. "Great gods above…_no…_!" he moaned into his hands.

I could not contain my curiosity. "Do you know what she is doing?"

"Yes. At least in part. I cannot imagine what the end game is, but I know that spell. I have seen it. It is _dangerous_."

"Your mother?" I guessed.

Logan seemed to suddenly realize what he was doing, and stiffened. His face hardened again, and after a moment's hesitation, he positively fled from the dungeon. The white rose lay forgotten on the chair, and after a moment's consideration, I reached through the bars and picked it up, drawing it back into my cage. It smelled as sweet as if it had just been plucked from its bush, and Logan was absolutely correct in his observation that it had lost none of its freshness. There was, to my mind, only one possible explanation. It must have been the product of another world. It seemed I had been right about her "matters of state" yesterday afternoon.

"You cannot stop her, Logan," I muttered, stroking the petals with my thumb. "Whatever she has decided to do, her mind is set on it. Queen Rose is almost certainly the most stubborn woman alive."


	9. Chapter 9: Remembrance

I could not sleep. I lay facing the wall, allowing my ringing ear to drain pus onto my handkerchief. I held the white rose to my nose, the better to shut out the gamey stench of Norris' wife's homemade beef stew, which he was eating with gusto nearby. Did the disgusting man not realize the meat had gone rancid?

I heard the sound of a spoon clattering to the floor and the squeal of a chair being pushed hurriedly back. Then there was the rattle of keys, and a faint glow I had come to recognize lit upon the walls. I could almost feel it warming my back. Norris' shuffling footsteps receded, and a cool hand touched my shoulder. I ignored it, feigning deep sleep. I was far too exhausted for whatever she wanted from me, now.

"Oh, Reaver…" Rose whispered sadly, sitting on the edge of my bed. She rolled me carefully onto my back so that my head was cradled in her lap. I felt something soft and moist dabbing gently at my wounds, and wherever it touched my skin, the pain disappeared. I opened my eyes.

Her luminous face was full of a mixture of self-reproach and compassion as she examined the ear she had damaged. I realized that I was looking at her through both eyes, unhindered by swelling. It was as though Logan's fist had never connected with my face, at all. She was tending to my wounds with a soft cloth drenched in what could only be a powerful healing potion.

"Turn your head," she said in a soothing voice. I did, and she squeezed the cloth over my ear. I felt cool drops trickling down into my ear canal, where they soothed away the ache and stopped the ringing at once. I could not help but moan quietly at the relief. I looked up at her, uncertain for once in my life about what I should say. She smoothed my hair away from my damp face and ran her fingers through it. I closed my eyes again, feeling the first foggy tendrils of sleep curling around my mind.

"I made this potion for Lillian. It took months of study to achieve the formula. Months which were only hours, for her. It healed her completely, but she still needs to rest. I'm afraid that you and I do not have that luxury. We must go now, to fulfill the debt you owe for your crimes."

More of this _time-manipulation_ malarkey? I began to wonder if the Queen was quite sane. "I thought it was just the one crime."

"You know better than that. So do I. You have stolen the lives of three hundred ninety-four people in order to maintain your own life. You have used that life to harm and murder thousands of men, women, and children. You fed the Darkness for so long that it was able to manifest itself fully in this world and kill dozens upon dozens of innocent Aurorans, growing in strength to threaten Albion and end the lives of fourteen brave soldiers. I now charge you with these crimes, in the name of Albion. In the name of Oakvale, and the souls who still haunt its ruins."

I could not speak. Her soft words and pitying brown eyes froze me to the quick. She knew everything. I did not know how. But it was the inescapable truth.

"For these crimes, I extend your sentence to no less than three hundred years of service. We will go now to fulfill these terms. It is well past time that you faced judgment. But you will not face it alone. I passed this terrible sentence, and I must therefore carry it out myself."

She stood, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet. She brought me out of my cell and into the corridor that led further down into the deeper reaches of the castle. Her body's natural luminescence lit our way. After a few minutes, we stood before the familiar door to the room that held the Cullis Gate which Rose had built. It was slightly ajar.

"Logan?" Rose breathed, pushing the door the rest of the way open.

Her brother stood between us and the Cullis Gate. He was holding a book.

"Do not do this, Rose," he pled, thrusting the book into her free hand. "You've read this diary. I know you have. You know as well as I do that Time Control is not something to be used lightly. It nearly drove our mother mad." His voice was hoarse with emotion. "You were only a newborn. You did not see her at the end. She could not differentiate between her own time and the various events she was experiencing in the future and the past. Her mind was fragmented. She would not leave her bedroom, because she knew that her dementia would frighten the people. And then she was gone."

"Logan, please…"

"I will not watch it happen again. Not to you, Rose. _He_ is not worth destroying yourself for." He drew his sword and eyed me with deadly concentration. He was going to kill me if he could. I gritted my teeth. Let him try, the insignificant _boy_. I would break his scrawny neck.

Rose dropped the book on the floor, and Logan darted forward, his blade glittering in a deadly arc. She raised the hand that was not holding mine.

"Forgive me, brother."

I heard the deep tolling of a bell, and a ring of golden light surrounded us, shimmering with shapes that I now recognized to be arcane numerals. Logan froze in place, his sword halted in mid-swing, his face a mask of pain and hatred. Everything around us was silent and still. Not even our shadows moved.

"What have you done?" I managed to whisper. "What is this?"

"It is exactly what it seems. I have stopped time. We must go, now."

She pulled me onto the Cullis Gate and activated it. The world turned to white light as we left Logan and the castle behind.

* * *

The demon door was still open when we materialized in Mistpeak, and we went through without preamble. I was numb with shock as I stumbled into the light of the beautiful world of green grass, wildflowers, and white roses. This was the center of the universe. Rose had called it the focal point, the place from which all other worlds could be accessed. It had not changed at all since my last visit, and I was willing to wager that it never would—not for me. In this world, we were bound by laws that were not our own.

Rose produced a pistol and handed it to me. I took it with unsteady hands. It was the Paramour. "You will need this. Where we are going, there will be many dangers."

I was surprised to find that that made me feel quite a bit better. Battle was something I understood. I was matched in ranged combat only by the woman standing beside me. It was my greatest strength. "Very well," I said at last, accepting that for now, there was nothing I could do but go along with this. "I assume you intend for us to go through one of these…doors?" I motioned to the faces of the demon doors that dotted the craggy landscape around our little island of greenery.

"Yes," she said excitedly. "You see, the doors themselves are a manifestation of—"

"Rose, that's all very fascinating, I'm sure, but I _really_ don't need to know the details. I'd like to get this over with, if you don't mind. I cannot remember the last time I had a full night's sleep."

She nodded. "Then follow me. Your sentence will begin the moment we pass through this door. Of all the doors in this place, I have determined that this is the one that belongs to you."

She stopped in front of a jagged pillar of rock. The impassive face of the demon door carved into it considered us for a moment, but seemed uninterested in conversation.

"How will we open it?" I asked dubiously. "It does not seem to want anything, does it?"

"Why don't you ask it?" she suggested.

I cleared my throat and eyed the bearded carving, feeling a bit ridiculous. "Ah, hello? How exactly are we to go about passing through you?"

The door remained resolutely silent.

"Oh, for the love of—Rose, darling, will you talk to it? This is not exactly my area of expertise."

"It is your door," she maintained stubbornly, crossing her arms. "You are the only one who can open it."

I groaned. How was I supposed to know how to make the bloody thing cooperate?

"Ugh! Sod it."

I drew the Paramour and squeezed the trigger six times in rapid succession, making a neat line of holes down the center of the face in the wall. To my surprise, the holes began to run together, and the face split apart to reveal the portal beyond.

"Interesting," Rose mused. "And…logical. Force has always been your way of solving problems, has it not?"

"Not _always_, my dear," I disagreed, slipping an arm about her waist. "Have you forgotten my other talents already?"

Her smile was a warm balm to my frayed nerves. "No. Nor am I likely to in a hurry. Shall we go?"

"_Must_ we?" I grazed my lips over the bridge of her pretty nose. Perhaps I could distract her long enough to find a way out of this.

"You know the answer to that." She stroked my cheek and tapped it, once, gently, over the naked beauty mark below my eye. "Everything will be all right, Reaver. Your courage is showing."

"For you, my Queen. I thought perhaps you had not noticed."

"Of course I noticed. Now it is time for you to use it."

I sighed and gazed into the whirling blue of the gateway before us. Rose took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly. We stepped through together.

* * *

I could not have been more surprised to find myself back in Bowerstone Castle, with Rose still holding my hand. But it was not the castle we had so recently left. Last year the Queen's decorators had decked it out in sky blue, gold, and white, going for a "celestial" scheme that would put its inhabitants and visitors at ease. _This_ castle was still draped in royal purple, Logan's color, which he had chosen to serve as a constant reminder of his supreme authority. We were in a small cloakroom adjacent to the King's Study.

I peered through the keyhole of one of the double doors, conscious of Rose doing the same beside me. Logan—_King_ Logan in his full regalia—sat at his desk, bent over a stack of papers, a plate of untouched food near his elbow. It looked cold.

"And you are sure these are accurate accounts?" he asked, not looking up.

"Of course, Your Majesty." I recognized my own voice and suppressed a shiver when I saw myself walk into view. There was my tall top hat, my immaculate white coat, my cane… My hair was perfect, as usual. My face, handsome and smug with satisfaction. I felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. I was seeing an event from my past.

"This can't be real…this happened several years ago," I whispered, looking to Rose for an explanation.

"It is real, and it is happening right now. We are here. We were _always_ here. If you were to have opened these doors back then, you would have seen us. But you never did, did you?"

"I think I would remember if I had," I hissed.

"That means you did not open them then, and you will not, now."

My other self came to stand beside the King's desk. "Ernest Faraday's mechanized 'Colin' models are almost combat-ready. They would be a most useful addition to the military might of Albion…if only he were willing to mass-produce them for you. But I'm afraid the old codger will likely continue to be uncooperative."

Logan cursed bitterly. "I have offered him gold, I have threatened him, I have appealed to his sense of duty—I must have that army, Reaver. _Albion_ must have that army."

"Might I make a suggestion, Your Majesty?" my past self asked in a seductive voice.

"I assume that is why you are _here_, Reaver. Speak."

"Faraday Industries has achieved some remarkable things over the last three decades, it is true. But the man has quite frankly begun showing signs of…passivity lately—quite understandable considering his venerable age. He has entered his twilight years, Your Majesty, and his will is growing weak. Still, he has defied his King, and that cannot be tolerated."

"What would you have me do? I need Faraday Industries to continue production, or the entire economy will crumble."

"Send Professor Faraday to Traitor's Keep for his disobedience. I will absorb Faraday Industries and put my people to work for you. Reaver Industries will provide for all of the needs of the Kingdom, Your Majesty. You have my word."

"Very well. See to it that you do not fail me, Reaver…or you will _join_ him."

"Yes, Your Majesty. Now, shall we go and meet with your Captain of the Guard to give him the good news?"

The other Reaver left the room with Logan. I let out a long breath and turned to his sister, gripping her shoulders tightly for support.

"Rose. Please tell me what this is. Have you done this?"

"In part. I told you that the laws of time were broken here, but that was not exactly correct. Since the day we first opened the Mistpeak demon door, I've used a Time Control spell to turn hours into months for myself, learning about these worlds and their laws. What I discovered is that the laws of time actually function perfectly well here. The difference between this world and our own is that here, we may travel freely through time. In fact, we already have; that is how I know that we _will_."

"I have no earthly idea what you are saying. Can you possibly simplify it for me, Miss _Mad Scientist_?"

"Time is an ocean, not a line. It is constant. We are looking into the past, but we will not be able to change it. It is not physically possible, because by definition, the altered reality would supersede the original, and therefore, the original would never have existed. There would be nothing to change. I can therefore predict our actions to a certain degree."

"If we cannot change the past, then what is the point of all of this?"

"We cannot change time," she said, pressing her brow against mine. "But time inevitably changes _us_. We have something very important to do, as I told you before, and you must be mentally prepared for it. That is why we are here. I need you to remember what you will be fighting for."

"You do realize that the very _structure_ of that sentence is completely senseless, Rose?"

She shrugged. "Shall we move on?"

"Yes, let's. This closet smells of shoe polish and _mold_."

Rose smiled and closed her eyes. The golden light enveloped us once again, and everything shifted. The colors, textures, and shapes of the cloak room melted together and spread apart to become something new. When the light faded, we were standing on a second-story balcony overlooking a luxurious sitting room I recognized immediately. This was my old home in Bloodstone, where I had lived more than 50 years ago, before the ascension of Queen Sparrow, before the events of the bloody Spire turned my life inside out. I could see myself down below and cringed—whatever had possessed me to _dress_ like that? A _cape_, a comically enormous bow tie, and those horrid maroon pants…I looked like some kind of costumed adventurer! It was mortifying. And my face was displayed to _far_ better advantage without that _ridiculous_ patch of hair below my lower lip. What _had_ I been thinking? I very nearly tried to shield my younger self from Rose's view before I came to my senses.

There came a sharp bang as the front door was kicked open, and a figure dressed in black marched into the sitting room, tracking mud and swamp-weed everywhere. Her hair was silver with age, her once-lovely face lined and weathered. I glanced anxiously at Queen Rose, who stood transfixed by what she was seeing. It was Sparrow. She had taken my Dark Seal to the Shadow Court and sacrificed her youth, and if I remembered correctly, I was _just_ about to inform her that I had sold her to Lord Lucien Fairfax, her greatest enemy—the murderer of her beloved sister…whose name had been Rose.

**Thanks again, everyone! Please, leave a review, even a short one—they really help! Special thanks go out to angelacm, kiltsaresexy, grey, and Rach for their recent feedback! Love you guys!**


	10. Chapter 10: Legacy

The ferocity of Sparrow's fire was not something I had forgotten, even after all these years, and I watched with grim fascination as she raged against the younger Reaver standing so boldly before her. So sure of himself and his place in the world, he was. His cozy coastal paradise was about to fall down around his ears, and he did not even know it. It was…embarrassing. I hated seeing myself like this, knowing that my haughty words of victory were hollow—that Lucien would inevitably make me look like a fool. I hated even more than Rose was watching. The humiliation was an unceasing itch that I yearned to scratch. _Skip to the next bit_, I thought, chewing my lip. _When we escape through the tunnel and I gun all of Lucien's men down before sealing the exit behind us. I saved our lives_! _Let her see _that!

But we were still here on the balcony, watching as Rose's mother shouted at my younger self, jabbing a finger into his chest.

"…could hear the sounda someone sobbing all the while, fighting my way through shadow beasts and thinking maybe this was gonna be a rescue mission! An' then I come to the end, an' there's this _girl,_ can't be more than _fifteen_, _crying_ 'er_ bleeding eyes out_ 'cause there's three dirty great shadow men about to eat her _soul_ or something—" Sparrow's lack of breeding showed itself best when she was angry. She had grown up a homeless waif, and she spoke with the lazy dialect of the uneducated—unlike her children, who had had proper tutors.

"Ah tut tut," the younger me said disparagingly, clearly satisfied with his superiority over this peasant crone. "The Judges do not _eat souls_. Actually, now that you mention it, I'm not entirely sure _what_ they are getting out of this bargain at this point, but it is clearly not your soul. All of your youthful vitality has been transferred to _me_. Thank you for that, by the way. Your skin was _so_ lovely. I admired it very much when you first visited me, even covered as it was with _dirt_ from what I can only assume was a very long and exhausting journey. Did you _crawl_ all the way from Bowerstone, or are you simply unfamiliar with the concept of bathing?"

I lifted a hand to my eyes, suppressing a groan. Would this torment never end? Lucien's goons were going to pour through the front door any moment, now. Rose was watching her mother intently, but she looked back at me for a moment and, seeming to sense my discomfort, gave my arm a reassuring pat. I lowered my hand in surprise. Was she actually feeling sorry for _me_, even as she watched me ruin her mother's life?

"Enjoy it while you can, Reava," Sparrow said venomously. "I did what you asked. Now it's your turn."

"Well, now I have a confession to make. While you were away, it occurred to me that Lucien is probably quite miffed that you wandered off without his permission. Maybe miffed enough to part with a large heap of gold to get you back!" The young fool laughed, and I winced, pinching the skin between my eyes with one hand. "And you know what? I was right! So, as fun as all this has been, I'm afraid I must now return you to the Spire. Lucien's men should be here at any moment."

That was exactly right. I grabbed Rose by the waist and pulled her into the bedroom, shutting the door hurriedly. A great boom shook the house.

"All right," I heard myself call out irritably. "What _exactly_ was that?"

"Reaver, the city's under attack!" I thought I recognized the voice of one of my old cronies, who would now be standing exactly where Rose and I had been. I pulled her close to me and whispered urgently into her ear.

"That will be Lucien's army, darling, and they'll be through the doors very soon, looking for your mother and me. They are not _nearly_ as pleasant as I am, and I must insist that we _flee_. Your mother and I escaped through a tunnel downstairs, but as much as I would love to show you the heroic way I defended your mother's life after trying to sell her out, I do not recommend following them now, because I recall blowing the entrance to seal the soldiers in the caves beneath the house."

"I can get us out of here," she answered, taking my hands. "I can sense the next door."

The light of her spell filled the room, dampening the noise of the chaos around us. There was the sensation of things melting together again, and the world shifted. Snow was falling in heavy flakes, melting in Rose's hair and on her eyelashes as she looked around us. I felt cobblestones beneath my boots and smelled woodsmoke. Somewhere nearby, a dog howled. There were little ramshackle houses lined up against the street, and we were standing at the base of an enormous tower. Castle Fairfax, if I was not mistaken, before Sparrow's reign.

"Bowerstone?" I could not think of a single significant memory about this place at this time. The city was a wreck. Most of the Old Quarter was an impoverished slum. I did not see myself anywhere, either. "Why are we here?"

Rose looked as perplexed as I felt. "I don't know…I only know that this was the only place to go. We are moving backward, further into the past. That is all I can say with certainty."

I shivered against the cold wind, and Rose noticed. She wrapped her arms around me, her long hair swirling around our faces with each gust. I could not understand why she was treating me so affectionately. After everything she had seen, everything that she had come to know about me, she ought to have put a bullet through my heart. But something had been…_off_…since her return to my cell. She had been ready to kill me after I hurt the chambermaid; she had in fact very nearly taken my head off with the slap that ruptured my eardrum. I had prepared myself for a much harder side of the Queen's personality. But when she returned with the potion she had created here, in this strange nexus of worlds, her attitude toward me had changed. She was tender, attentive, and warm, and she was completely open about her knowledge of my past. She even knew the _exact_ _number_ of victims I had condemned to the Shadows.

"When you made that healing potion, did you look into any other doors?" I asked her.

"Of course," she replied. "How do you think I came to know _you_ so well?"

"I must admit that I am at a loss to explain that."

"I saw pieces of my future, where I have already done what we are doing now. Much of it is a blur, but there are some things I recognized. I knew I would see my mother in your house, for example."

"Did you see _this_ place?"

"No," she said, looking troubled. "Do you not recognize it?"

"I know the place," I answered, squinting up through the snow at the night sky. "We are just beneath the tower of Castle Fairfax, Lucien's home, in Bowerstone. But I cannot think of a single thing of note that happened here. I don't suppose we can simply move on, can we?"

"Not yet. I have not been creating portals as we go—I've been _finding_ them. We have to find the next door."

"Uh-hmm. _Marvelous_. And how do we do that?"

"Well, it is not so much of a matter of _where_ to find the door as _when_ to find it. Events must align in a certain way to allow us to slip through this reality. Until those conditions are met, we are trapped. The door does not exist."

"This is madness," I grumbled. "How many—"

A gunshot rang out. The Paramour was in my hands before the sound had time to fade, and I pushed Rose down into a nearby bush.

"Ow! You realize I am _highly _capable of self-defense, don't you?"

"Stay there and be quiet," I hissed, searching for the source of the shot. It had come from somewhere above us. Before I could pinpoint its location, there was another report, and the sound of shattered glass—a lot of it—from exactly above the bush wherein I had stowed the Queen.

"Never mind, my dear, time to move!" I grunted, pulling her back up. Her dress tore as it snagged on the thorns—it was a rose bush, its dead branches white with snow. Shards of glass rained down onto the bush and the cobbled street around it. I scrambled backward, dragging Rose with me, putting a safe distance between us and the shower of sharp missiles. I glanced up. A small, dark shape was falling through the air with the glass, from the tower of Castle Fairfax. It landed with a dull thud directly into the rose bush.

"Sweet Avo," Rose moaned, breaking free of me. "It's a _child_!"

Her feet crunched over broken bits of glass as she ran to the tiny body. I followed cautiously, peering over her shoulder. It was indeed a child—an underfed stick of a girl, perhaps nine or ten years old. There was a fresh bullet wound in her chest, small caliber, but lethal enough, nonetheless. She was almost certainly dead. I gazed up at the remains of the window through which she had been blown, high above us in the tower. That Lucien had wanted _slaying_, he _really_ had. I was pleased that _I_ had been the one to do it, when the time came at last.

Rose had drawn a flask from a pocket sewn into her skirt and she poured a small amount of clear liquid over the bullet wound. Perhaps she was trying to wash some of the blood away. The rituals surrounding death had never made a scrap of sense to me. Dead was dead. It was not as though the girl would jump up and thank her for her sympathy. Rose opened the child's mouth and raised her head a few inches from the ground, forcing some of the liquid between her lips. She massaged the girl's throat. And then, to my complete astonishment, the girl began to breathe. Her narrow chest moved ever so slightly up and down, evenly, as though she were merely sleeping. Rose laughed with relief, tears streaming from her eyes, and looked up at me.

"Reaver, please, I need your waistcoat quickly. Her bones have mended, but she'll freeze to death if we leave her on the ground."

I shrugged out of the ruined garment and handed it to her, watching as she wrapped it carefully around the unconscious girl and lifted her into her arms. Something about that sight—Rose standing in the moonlit snow with a child swaddled in my clothing held tenderly against her breast—made me feel weak in the knees. She stroked the little girl's nose with one fingertip, pressing her brow against the child's in a gesture I had come to know well. Seeing it like this, I realized that it was unmistakably an expression of pure love.

"I will take her, Queen."

Rose and I turned, startled, to face a figure in a crimson cowl and dress. It was a woman, clearly blind, but smiling as if she could see us as easily as we could see her. I knew her.

"_Theresa_," Rose whispered, clutching the child closer to her.

"Rose. Reaver. I have been expecting you. Your potion has saved the life of this little Sparrow. But it will be many months before she recovers fully from the shock of what has happened."

An expression of mingled wonder and agony crossed Rose's face as she looked back down at the tiny body she held. "This is...her?"

Theresa nodded, her hands clasped in front of her. "Yes. This is your mother. Lucien Fairfax would have succeeded in murdering her were it not for your courage and your compassion."

"And my aunt?" She seemed almost afraid to ask.

"Rose perished tonight. Your mother will have an opportunity to bring her back to life, but she will ultimately choose to put the needs of the many before her own, just as you have. But you carry her name, and there is great power in that. A part of her will always be with you. She raised your mother alone, protected her, fed her, cared for her, and taught her how to survive, showing enormous courage for one so young. Remain true to the legacy of her love, and Rose will live on through you."

The seer held out her arms, and Queen Rose reluctantly handed the bundled child to her. She steeled herself, taking a few shuddering breaths, blinking back tears. "Thank you, Theresa. Thank you for taking her in. Thank you for…everything."

"All will be well, Queen Rose. We will meet again. Our destinies are intertwined throughout time." Theresa turned to me. "Reaver. You must reclaim your own name if you hope to survive what is to come. I have seen what Rose cannot, but her course is true. She promised you a gift beyond your wildest dreams, and she will keep her word. But you must be the one to seize it when the time comes. Prepare yourself."

I sighed, rubbing snow out of my hair. "I do not suppose you could simply _tell_ me what is going to happen and save us all a great deal of time?"

"Time does not exist to be saved. You already know much of what lies ahead for you on this journey, Reaver, but that knowledge has not changed anything. You must live it. Now, go. The door is open, and you have fulfilled your purpose here. I will care for Sparrow, and her line will go on. Farewell." She turned and walked away, Sparrow's fragile body cradled in her thin arms.

"Let's go," Rose murmured, gazing down at her feet. She was crying silently. I sensed the palpable ache of her loss. I understood loss. She would never see Sparrow again. She would never know her. But…_I_ had known her.

"Don't cry," I said gently, cradling Rose's face in my hands and wiping her tears away with my thumbs. "Your face will go dreadfully blotchy, and I rather like it the way it is. I can tell you about my adventures with your mother when we return home, if you like. I know stories about Sparrow that would positively _curl_ your lovely hair." I tried to inject some light-heartedness into my tone, but it was difficult. Despite my good intentions, it seemed a form of twisted hypocrisy. I was the reason she would never know her mother. I could no longer deny that.

But Rose smiled meltingly, all the same. "I'd like that very much." Her brown eyes were so warm. I'd found myself noticing them more and more, lately. It was true that her body was perfect and overwhelmingly desirable in every way, but her face…her eyes, her nose, the curve of her lips…these things were becoming precious to me. She breathed a soft sigh and pressed her forehead against mine, closing her eyes. Our noses, cold as ice from the weather, touched, and the mist of our warm breaths mingled. I recalled the sight of Rose holding her mother this way.

_An expression of pure love_.

I knew then that she loved me.

I felt a twinge of guilt deep in my gut. What a terrible fate…to love the man who had taken everything from her. If what she had said about the Darkness was true, it meant that I was also responsible, albeit indirectly, for the death of her father and the transformation of her brother from a leader to a tyrant. It was incomprehensible. What had the poor girl deluded herself into thinking about me? Was she _trying_ to have her heart broken? I could not understand her. She was no fool, despite her lofty ideals. She was a strong, determined, glorious creature whose very life was an unquenchable fire that lit the way for an entire nation. She was powerful, brave, and kind. She was...perfect.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, turning the full force of her magnificent eyes on me again. My head swam. _Skorm's beard! Those eyes_…

"Considering what happened here, I ought to be asking _you_ that question, don't you think?" I said huskily.

"I'm…" She paused, considering the question carefully. "I'm better. I got to touch her. I got to hold her and know she would be safe."

I nodded, letting out a long, steaming breath. I was beginning to understand that sentiment very well, myself.

**I'm already working on the next chapter, but I'm always checking for feedback, so please leave a review! Thank you all!**


	11. Chapter 11: Reaver

**Note: This chapter mentions some characters and events from the short story Fable: Reaver by Peter David, which you can read on amazon. It's a fun little short story and I highly recommend buying** **it! Special thanks to angelacm for suggesting that I read it, and for being so darn inspirational. ****As always, please do leave a review, and enjoy. :)**

We did not enter the next door so much as _fall_ through it. I heard a shuddering gasp and saw a flash of wide brown eyes for an instant, and then I plunged into a dark, airless world of grey and green. My eyes burned as I tumbled over and over in the strong current, searching for the way back to the surface or a sign of Rose. Her hands had been ripped away from me by the brutality of the swirling water. I was grateful that I wore only my shirt, pants, and boots, now, rather than a full ensemble which would have become quickly waterlogged and very possibly consigned me to an abyssal grave. I released a small breath and kicked out fiercely, following the bubbles.

A cloud of white drifted by like a ghost in the murk, and I reached for it instinctively, but my hands found only the voluminous fabric of a discarded skirt. _Good girl_. The Heroine would have no trouble swimming, now. She was incredibly strong, if her devastating _right cross_ was any indicator. And I could see light ahead, at last. Shafts of gold and silver flashed before me, and I broke through the surface of the water with a grunt of exertion, blinking the saltwater from my eyes and casting about for signs of Rose. I spun, treading water and occasionally diving back under as enormous waves broke over my head. Wherever we were, there was no shore in sight. This was the open sea. A galley cut a swath through the waves, tall and broad, approximately a hundred yards away from me. Her frothy wake was wreaking havoc on my body and my chances of locating Rose. Where _was _she? I plunged down into the grey depths again, but it was hopeless. I could not see more than a foot or two beyond my face. If she was still underwater, I would be very lucky to find her.

I was close enough to the ship to watch with some surprise as her massive anchor dropped. It was then that I saw it. The sun glinted off the hull at just the right angle for the spangled gold name to shine out like a beacon above the spray: it was _Reaver_. I could have kicked myself. Of _course_ it was. That's what this whole bloody mess was about, after all. My past was literally coming back to haunt me. I struck out toward my old galley, knowing that Rose would do the same if and when she reached the surface. I knew that it was the _last_ place a girl like her needed to be, however, particularly in her smallclothes. I swam faster, using the length of my body and limbs to my advantage and riding the waves as they came. The _Reaver_ had stopped, and it was easier, now. My mind was working feverishly. What could I possibly have to see here? Was this before or after I had dispatched the self-styled pirate king, Captain Dread? All of that had happened on _his_ ship, the _Marianne_. Part of me hoped that Rose would have an opportunity to see that glorious hour, wherein I had destroyed the entire ship single-handedly while in captivity. It had been one of my very favorite feats of ingenuity. But…I did not think she would appreciate the sight of Dread's pretty blonde head on fire as much as I had.

In any case, I had to _find_ her. That was the most important thing. I had to find Rose.

_Think. Why are you here_? I tried to force myself to think like she would. I did not succeed. Her nimble mind was absolutely incomprehensible. What I _did_ do well was think like a pirate. And what I came up with made me swim _very_ fast.

A great deal of shouting and whooping went up from the _Reaver_, confirming my suspicions. I had known so many women in my long life. Their faces and bodies were an unintelligible blur of hot flesh and colorful fabrics. Even a breathtaking beauty like Rose would not have stood out for very long in my mind at this time in my life, when I was raiding everything in sight simply because I _could_. The world was my oyster, and I preferred it _raw_.

_Oh, what did you do, what did you do to her, and what became of her_? _How did she get away_? Ugh. I scowled blackly. Who bloody remembered? It all ran together for me. The pillaging, the treasures, the betrayals, the victories. There had been so very many of them for me. I was far too good at what I did.

I was now at the anchor line, and I gripped it firmly in my hands. It was wet and slippery, but, fortunately, I was no ordinary man; I was a Hero. I was far, _far_ stronger than any man I had ever known. Moreover, I was _desperate_. I knew very well where such a prize would end up. A plan began to coalesce in my mind. It would be a gamble, but Rose's visions of her future proved that I would succeed…or so I very fervently hoped. If I could not get her back, I would be trapped here waiting for her to be born and for the whole bloody cycle to begin again. I removed my shirt, slung it over my shoulder, and began to climb.

"What have we here?" I heard myself say. "Where on earth could you have come from, my little mermaid? Jake!"

"Aye, Captain?"

_Ah, Smiling Jake. _That meant that I had already dealt with Captain Dread. He had been the man's first mate, and now he belonged to me. My darker appetites had only grown stronger after that little coup. Rose was _not safe_. I climbed faster, my cold muscles bunching with the effort. The ship was sitting ridiculously high on the water. Apparently the cargo hold was empty. I could only hope that I had used the plunder to thoroughly sate myself recently. If not, I feared I would be very rapacious, indeed.

"Put her in my stateroom, won't you? When she wakes, you will say nothing to her, lock the door behind you, and come to me at once. And Jake?"

"Sir?"

"Get her out of those wet clothes before you put her on the bed. The poor little sweet will catch cold, and I cannot abide a woman who must constantly _sneeze_ while I'm enjoying her."

"Aye, Captain." The relish in the man's tone was all too evident. It was utterly offensive. I pulled myself higher. She was not _his_. She was _mine_!

"_Jake_." My admonishment was sharp as a knife. Apparently I agreed wholeheartedly with me. "No touching. Not this one. I want her _unspoiled_. Is that clear?"

"As crystal, Captain." He sounded bitterly disappointed. Honestly, I could not blame him. I could only imagine the level of transparency her white smallclothes took on when soaked through. It was maddening. The fact that I trusted Smiling Jake alone with her was an indication of my brutality at this time of my life. My crew had been under my complete and total control. I had built an empire along the Bandit's Coast.

"Weigh anchor. Let us be on our way."

_Better and better._

The line ascended, carrying me with it. My back scraped against the hull of the ship, and I had to slide down the slick rope steadily in order to stay hidden. My feet hit the anchor and I found purchase there, waiting for my moment. With one hand clinging to the anchor, I pulled my shirt off my shoulder and twirled it until it was good and tight. Cloth was stronger wet than dry… The back of the bald head of the anchorman appeared above me. He was leaning against the stern, peeling a ripe banana. Hmmm…

I pulled out the Paramour. It was probably useless to me as a weapon, being full of saltwater, but its massive barrel was _very _shiny. It was, after all, a magical artifact. I lifted it over my head and examined the distorted reflection carefully, moving it to either side of the man several times before pulling it back. I could see some shapes that might have been men, but I needed to be absolutely sure. I took a quick breath and silently raised myself just high enough to see over the edge of the railing, then ducked down again immediately. Three men on the aft deck. The bald man, and two others who were busily swabbing. I had always insisted on a constantly immaculate space for myself in those days. I realized with some chagrin that I had grown incredibly lazy in the years that followed. My mansion in Millfields had frequently been positively obscene, looking like the site of some sort of brightly colored disaster, but that came with the territory when one threw the sorts of soirees I had become so fond of.

I decided to take my chance. With feline grace, I balanced myself on the anchor and held the twisted shirt in both hands. It was around the bald man's throat in an instant. He had no chance. I held the wet fabric taut in my fist and clapped my the other hand over his mouth and nose, tilting him toward me until his feet were off the deck. The banana made almost no sound when it fell from his scrambling fingers. It was lost in the noise of the wind and the sea. My eyes remained fixed on the deckhands as they scrubbed. He struggled for nearly a minute before going limp. I looped one leg around the rail, hauled him silently over the side, and tied the ends of the shirt around the anchor, hanging him there.

Now, for the deckhands. That would be a bit tricky…I ran a hand through my hair, which had been drying in the wind. By now, it was undoubtedly a tousled mess. There was nothing else for it: I would have to trust in the crew's abject fear of me. They knew very well what I was capable of. I picked up the half-eaten banana and walked toward the deckhands. I had done my fair share of acting in the past. Now I simply had to play…myself. If I could just manage to avoid the other me, I would be fine. And since I did not remember ever seeing a perfect copy of myself, much less shooting one, I knew that I would succeed. My confidence lent a certain swagger to my gait. _Good_. This _was_ _my_ ship, after all.

And that was _my_ Queen. I _would_ take her back.

At the sound of my approach, the two men stiffened in surprise, glancing up nervously. I quirked an eyebrow at them, taking a bite of the banana.

I chewed for a moment, then swallowed. They were still looking at me, perplexed by my bare chest and ruffled hair.

"_Yes_?" I said dangerously.

Both sets of eyes returned immediately to their tasks. I stepped between them, paused, and added over my shoulder, "You've missed a spot. See to it that it is _not_ _there_ when I return."

"Aye, Captain!" They scrubbed more vigorously than ever, and I smiled. In an odd way, it felt good to be back. I had been so very _barbaric_ in these days, before settling into a more comfortable life where discretion was a valuable skill. It was invigorating to know that I could shoot any of these men and _no one_ would give a damn. …Except me, of course, wherever I was lurking.

I made my leisurely way toward my cabin, keeping an eye out for the other Reaver. I could not help but grin wickedly. I was about to steal from the most dangerous man alive. It was absolutely thrilling.

I finally reached the door. For a moment, I considered that perhaps the reason I had not seen myself was because I was already inside. I discarded the notion almost immediately. If I was, I would be about to see myself. Impossible. I would have remembered _that_. I tossed the door open with a smirk.

Smiling Jake was standing beside the bed, his eyes roving restlessly over the naked splendor that was Rose. He looked up sharply as I entered, clearly just as surprised by my appearance as everyone else had been. But, like everyone else, he did not dare to question me. His face, disfigured by scars that stretched from the corners of his mouth to his cheeks, was full of guarded curiosity, but he did not speak. I took a moment to let my eyes rest on Rose's body.

"Oh-ho my…_Jake_. Have you ever seen a more tempting morsel in your life? Hm. Probably not, what with your unfortunate _looks_. It must have been maddening to keep your greedy fingers off of her. How _is_ our little castaway?" I asked airily. "Still not awake? Dear, dear. Well, I've grown tired of waiting. Close the door when you leave."

"Of course, Captain." He moved toward the door, and I held out an arm to stop him.

"Dispose of this," I said, dropping the banana peel into his hand. "And go to the aft deck and make sure the boys are putting their backs into it. If there is a single spot of filth to be seen when you arrive, _shoot_ them."

"Aye, sir."

And then, at last, he was gone. I went to Rose's side, examining her for injury. I saw a great deal of blood in her hair, but no wound. Her Heroic regeneration was astonishing. I had never seen anything like it. She had gone through my Wheel of Misfortune without suffering so much as a scratch, but the balverines had been a different matter. But wherever they had slashed her skin open, it had begun to heal almost instantly. She must have struck her head on the keel of the boat at some point and been knocked unconscious. It would have had to have been a mighty blow—it probably would have killed a lesser being.

"Wake up, darling," I said, shaking her. "We have to get off this ship _now_."

She stirred, blinking slowly, seeming to have difficulty focusing on my face. "Where are we? What's happened?" she asked.

"We are in the master stateroom of a _very_ nice, _very _well-armed galley I once owned," I said, opening my enormous closet and digging through it for some clothing for both of us. "Needless to say, it would be better if we departed sooner than later. I'll be coming for you any minute, and I don't think you would like me as a pirate king. I was very nearly as dangerous as I am now, a good deal _moodier_, and far less inclined to be patient. I've seen you in wet underthings and I just _know _how little that will do for what patience I have."

"Ah." She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Reaver, you ought to get inside that closet straight away. You're coming. I saw us discussing this event in the future, before, when I was working on the potion."

"Discussing _what_, exactly?" I demanded, scandalized.

"Get in the closet, _now_!" she commanded. "You know you would immediately shoot any man you found in this room, and I cannot let you kill yourself. That is not what happens, thank Avo. Wait for your moment, and then you will take your pistol and knock yourself out. The door will not open until you do this."

I made a noise of disgust. The rules of this entire affair were ridiculous. I could not make sense of them. Evidently, however, Rose could. I had no choice but to follow her lead.

"Well done getting here, by the way," she said, giving me a reassuring smile and pulling the sheets over her body. "I wish you had not had to kill that man, but I understand the necessity of certain evils. Now please get in the closet, Reaver. I'll be all right."

I sighed and did as she asked, closing the door enough to leave a sliver of space through which I could watch for my chance. Knowing myself as I did, it would not be easy. I was always ready for attack, especially in this tumultuous time. One did not earn the title of "pirate king" simply by _asking_, after all.

After a few minutes, the latch lifted and I watched myself enter. I noticed with some interest that he was not quite as tall as I was, now. How curious. This Reaver stood very still for a moment, transfixed by Rose's steady gaze.

"Well, I see _Jake_ has run off. We must have crossed on opposite sides of the ship. We were all so _very _shocked to see you floating in the sea with nary a scrap of timber from a wrecked vessel in sight. Tell me, my dear, were you thrown overboard?"

"You could say that," she said dryly, smiling at the irony of the statement. "It was certainly unexpected. Thank you for rescuing me, Captain. I am in your debt."

The younger Reaver smirked, removing his brocade longcoat and tossing it casually onto a chair. "My, aren't you well-mannered? Are you someone's daughter, perhaps?"

"Every woman is someone's daughter, sir." Where _was_ she getting this cheek? It was rather alluring. The other me would certainly think so, too. I felt my hands opening and closing on their own.

"Mmmm. Well-mannered, beautiful, _and_ clever. Well, you will have an opportunity to repay me for my kindness in short order." He sat down on the bed and removed his boots. I suppressed a curse. He was completely out of reach, on the wrong side of the massive bed. Rose would need to maneuver him closer to me.

She watched him silently, her face impassive. Only the increase in the speed of her breathing betrayed her feelings. And what _were _those feelings, exactly? I could not help but to wonder what she knew, or how far this would go before I had my opportunity to brain him with the butt of my pistol. I found myself rather conflicted about this. On the one hand, it _was me_, and I had already had her. On the other hand, in so many ways, it _wasn't_ me. Not anymore.

"Nothing to say?" he teased, unbuttoning his shirt so that it hung open, baring a smooth, pale chest and flat, hard stomach. I found the sight of myself like this quite frankly entrancing. So, apparently, did Rose.

"I…" she faltered, a little shiver running through her body. "I am at a bit of a loss, yes."

"No matter, little mermaid. I have enough to say for _both_ of us, and I'm sure I can think of far better uses for your lovely mouth." He grabbed a fistful of the sheets and whipped them off the bed. They slid right through Rose's hands, and she flinched, covering herself instinctively. "Ah, _no_, that won't do, at all. Put your arms _down_ and lower your knees. I'd like to look at you."

Rose looked him coolly in the eye, her posture erect, her demeanor every inch that of a Queen. "No, I think not. I'd like to know who you are."

He drew his pistol—one of six rare and wonderful gems in a series called the Dragonstomper .48—and pointed it at her head. I twitched anxiously, but held myself back. She was more than a match for him, surely. I had been very good, yes, but not quite as good as I was, _now_. I smiled, remembering her astonishing display of power in the prison cell. He would do well to avoid provoking her wrath. The woman was _always_ armed, and lightning was faster than a bullet.

"I see. I will forgive your ungrateful disobedience this once, because you are unaware of who it is you are dealing with, although I confess I cannot imagine _how_. There are warrants for my capture, dead or alive, everywhere along the coast. I put them there, myself. The portrait I chose is incredibly accurate and, I must say, rather flattering. I am _Reaver_, my sweet. The seas belong to me, along with everything that comes _out_ of them. Including you. Now." He pulled back the hammer of the pistol. "_Lower_ your arms and legs. I will _not_ ask again."

Rose did as she was bid, slowly revealing herself in her full glory. It was a subtle assault on the senses, her gently glowing skin like alabaster against the crimson bed. Tendrils of her damp hair clung to her shoulders and back, one lock caressing the swell of a perfect, perky breast. She really did look like some sort of sea-maiden out of legend. The other Reaver drew in a long breath, arching his eyebrows in stunned approval. I was doing the same in the closet, one knuckle pressed lightly to my lips.

"You are not quite ordinary, are you?" he murmured, lowering the gun and uncocking its hammer.

"Nor are you, Captain Reaver," she answered, ducking the question artfully.

"No, I am not," he agreed, placing the Dragonstomper on the nightstand where he would be able to reach it instantly if he so desired. With a dark smile, he rested his back comfortably against the headboard. "Come here, and I will show you."

Rose could have crawled to him on her hands and knees, but she chose to get out of the bed entirely, walking sedately around to his side with high-born grace. I smiled proudly at this show of dignity in the face of danger. She was a Queen. She did _not crawl_. But I did _not wait_. Not even for Queens. I watched this Reaver's hands reach out to catch hers and pull her on top of him. She was straddling his narrow hips and his hands were on her waist, no doubt marveling at the smoothness of her skin. Her hands went to the edges of his shirt, pulling it further open slowly, as though she were unwrapping a gift. He would like that. _I_ certainly did. I noticed a faint tremble in her breathing as he rolled his hips gently beneath her. Her head rocked a few inches backward with uneasy pleasure, and he smirked. My heart raced. I so longed to join them. I could easily imagine the ecstasy of making love to both Rose and _myself_. But, alas, Rose was quite correct—one of me would end up dead if I did not remain hidden.

"Would you like to see it, _ma chère_?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.

Rose seemed quite unable to speak. Her eyelids fluttered, and she was positively _panting_ as he moved against her, his massive erection straining against his pants, as mine was. I must have been so caught up in my own pleasure when I had had her in the castle that I had not noticed the magnitude of my effect on her senses. I was surely far more impressive between the sheets now than I had been in my seafaring days. This less experienced version of myself could not hope to hold a candle to what I had become… He would give her pleasure, yes, but it could not _possibly_ be better than what _I_ had given her. Frustrated, I bit down on my knuckle, hard. Avo above, I _wanted_ her.

"I will take that for a yes," he chuckled huskily, and in a deft move that made her gasp with surprise, he had flipped her onto her back and was kneeling over her, holding her arms over her head with one hand while the other slid between her thighs to caress her there. "But I caution you, little mermaid. On this ship, you must _work_ for your supper, and I do not tolerate waste. You will swallow _everything_ I give you."

He had clearly meant to frighten her a little. But if the smoldering fire in her eyes was not enough of an indication of the direct opposite reaction, what happened _next_ drove all doubt from both of our minds about her response to dominance. Queen Rose feared no one. With a slow but firm application of her tremendous strength, she pulled one of her hands free and unfastened his pants, taking him completely by surprise.

"Waste not, want not," the Queen pronounced, and her abdominal muscles tightened as she levered herself upward. I watched with amusement as the younger me tried to push her back down and found himself _failing_. "And while we are on the subject of useful aphorisms…do be careful what you wish for, Captain."

She was on top of him again, one hand around his throat, holding him down while she did away with his pants. My mouth went dry. If he knew how easily she could kill him from this position… A brief flare of her Will, and he would be so much charred meat. Chills trickled down my spine like shards of ice. My erection throbbed almost painfully, and I gritted my teeth against the overwhelming desire to relieve myself. I had to be ready to strike him down. That thought was becoming more and more appealing all the time. I would have to be careful not to hit him hard enough to kill him. Part of me wanted to snap his neck, helplessly watching him incite her fiery spirit this way, while part of me thrilled to the sight. I had known only the gentle sweetness of Rose's love. I had no idea that she could be so fierce without some wounded friend or high ideal to defend. I would put that to good use _very_ soon.

The sight of his—_my_—strong, pulsing manhood in her hands drove me to utter distraction. When she bent to press her tongue against its tip, I felt my blood boil. His handsome face was caught somewhere between shock at her strength and unparalleled carnal bliss in the sensations she was arousing within him. She suddenly took him into her mouth all at once, ripping a low groan of pleasure from deep in his chest. She was so far down the shaft that she could only be stroking his tip with the back of her throat. But his hands snarled themselves in her hair, driving her to go deeper. The greedy fool was going to choke her.

Not today, _boy_.

I sprang from the closet, leaping onto him before either of us could register what had happened. He turned to go for the Dragonstomper on the night stand, but I was faster. I grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head toward me. Lightning-fast, I bashed the back of his skull with the butt of my pistol, throwing him bodily against the headboard with all the force I could muster. It splintered. I hit him again and again, helpless to quell my rage.

"Stop, Reaver, he's unconscious! _Stop_!"

Rose tried to make a cage around me with her arms, but I broke away from her. The realization that I _could _was an instant balm to my fury. I _was_ stronger. I _was_ better than he. I was panting heavily, but I managed to calm myself. He lay still, bleeding, but breathing. Without ceremony, I rolled him off the bed and onto the floor with one booted toe. I could no longer think of him as myself. I had watched him, and I found him…wanting. _I_ was the superior man.

I turned to Rose, and without a word, crushed my lips against hers. She made a muffled little noise of surprise—this was all probably very strange for her—but responded enthusiastically after a moment, kissing me deeply. My worry about her passion for me evaporated. If anything, her fervor doubled when it was truly _me,_ at last, that she embraced. I struggled to free myself from what remained of my clothing, and she eagerly assisted.

"Hold me down, Rose."

She smiled at the challenge and shoved me onto my back, dragging my arms above my head and holding them there while she kissed me. I put every muscle I had into prying myself up, overcoming her Heroic strength again. We were lying the wrong way on the bed, and as I rose, I pushed her against the broken headboard.

"Nicely done, Hero," she murmured, nipping at my lower lip with her white teeth. "You have improved with age. And you have opened the next door. We can leave."

"Mmm, not just yet, my dear. I think I'd like to celebrate my victory, first. You cannot imagine how it felt to see what I just saw."

"I suppose you will say you did not know who you wanted more," she laughed.

"Oh, I knew, darling," I said feelingly, and her eyes softened.

And I took her.


	12. Chapter 12: Genesis

Eventually and inevitably, Rose insisted that we put the unconscious pirate king back in his bed.

"This is a terrible concussion," she said, examining his pupils as she lifted his lids.

"I should hope so."

"Well, your Heroic constitution will keep you out of danger. But this injury may be responsible for your inability to remember this moment. Then again, it could simply be that it will not be the first time—or the last—that you have woken up to a terrible headache, a room in total disorder, and a missing woman. Should I splash some rum over him?"

"My dear girl, I can think of no more effective waste of perfectly good alcohol and _couture_," I said, affecting astonishment. "In any case, surely you can understand that the crew _needs_ that rum." I paused. "For the scurvy, you see. We add lime juice to the rum barrels."

This seemed to amuse her. "_You_ drink rum from a barrel?"

"Absolutely _not_." I grinned down at her with a wink and lightly bit the tip of her nose. "I only drink from golden chalices and the navels of beautiful women."

"Hmm…I imagine the latter would be rather time-consuming, what with having to pause between sips to refill them."

"Darling, have you _ever_ known me to pour my own drinks?"

She held up a finger, smiling. "Actually, yes—the first night you spent in the castle, you were drinking glass after glass of wine, and you were pouring it from its decanter, yourself."

My grin faltered slightly. "Now how on _earth_ do you know that? …Ahhh, the wine-bearer. Dear, dear! Rather _ruthless_ of you to make a concubine out of one of your servants in order to _spy_ on me, _ma minette_. I would not have expected it of you."

"I did nothing of the sort. Benjamina volunteered. She owed me a favor for a…clandestine mission which I carried out for her last year, and she was positively jumping at the chance to repay me." Rose's roguish wink was an exact copy of my own. "She was not there to spy, either. She was there to keep you from harassing my staff. I had to send her back to her home, however, when I discovered that she had drugged your wine. I am very sorry about that. The man you believed to be her husband reported it to me, and assured me that no lasting damage was done to your person."

"_Lasting_ damage?"

"Well, she did…pluck out several strands of your hair. She had read Mary Godwin's book on the possibilities of human cloning—"

"Of _what?! She took my hair_?"

"No, no, I'm only joking. The truth is actually a good deal more disgusting. I've set her up with a therapist, and she's been told not to go near you again. She'll get the help she needs, and you will be safe."

I frowned. "I don't suppose there is any way I can prevent her from being _born_, is there?" I asked sarcastically. To be honest, it was rather flattering that someone found me even more compelling than I found myself—a tall order—but I so enjoyed goading the Queen. Threatening her subjects was really the easiest way to do it.

"You cannot change time," she said solemnly, for probably the fifth time. "Whatever we do here has already been done in the future. Our lives are the way they are because of what we did here."

That was my trouble…it was nearly impossible to goad the Queen.

I sighed, defeated. "You are no fun, at all."

"That is a _lie_," she said with mock indignation, examining her back in the mirror. "There are—ah, no, they've gone, now. There _were_ a dozen scratch marks, just there," she insisted, pointing at her unblemished skin. "They were there ten minutes ago."

"Far be it from me to cast doubt upon the Royal Memory," I teased, tickling her ribs. She laughed and wriggled, and I wrapped my arms around her, watching our reflections. The sight was captivating. I could not put a name to what I was feeling, but it was _marvelous_. "What is the penalty for that kind of insubordination?"

"Death by Pirate King, if we do not hurry," she answered seriously. "We need clothes, and we need to open the next door, or he will surely have us both killed."

"I _am_ unlikely to be in _good spirits_ when I wake," I agreed. "If I recall correctly, I am sure to have _just_ what we need. Do you still have your own footwear?"

"Yes."

"Good. This will only take a moment, _mon trésor en sucre_."

I searched through the closet and made a low sound of satisfaction. I grabbed a handful of fabric and tossed it over my shoulder, onto the bed. "That should fit you nicely. And now…"

All of the pants would be too short. I could not quite wrap my mind around that. Somehow, through the years, I had been growing taller. Fortunately, my pants and boots had dried on the floor during my extensive congress with Rose, so all I needed was a shirt, perhaps a waistcoat, a cravat, and one of my best jackets to tie it all together. I chose carefully, throwing the rejects onto the floor. Finally, I had a finished outfit. I dressed quickly and turned toward the mirror to see what I could do with my hair…and stopped.

Rose was holding the dress against the unconscious Reaver's body. She pulled it back, held it up, and asked, "This is yours, isn't it? I mean, you had it made…for you?"

I almost blushed before I caught myself. I _never_ blushed. I had nothing to blush about. "It should fit," I insisted. "It's…ah…quite adjustable. And it's white. I thought you would like that."

"Your kindness, as always, is fathomless." Her tone was playfully sarcastic, but her face was warm and bright with affection.

I made an elegant bow and swept past her to fix my hair in the mirror. As I worked, I watched her reflection. She was having some difficulty with a few of the adjustable straps hidden throughout the snowy fabric, but eventually she managed to find them all. Something in the pit of my stomach dropped. I realized that I had been delaying this moment. We would be moving on again, now. There were no more excuses.

I smiled tightly and brushed a strand of Rose's hair away from her face. "Is it comfortable?"

"It should do. But perhaps it would have been more practical to dress me as a pirate king."

"But you _like_ fighting in dresses," I observed fondly. "And it is a spectacular sight to behold."

She gestured hopelessly at the gown, shaking her head ruefully. "All true… But I'm sure I won't pull this one off quite as well as you do."

"Oh, hush now." I kissed her mouth, putting an end to her teasing. She had really grown quite bold, lately. She was pure cheek half the time. It was very refreshing.

"All right, let us get this over and done with," I said, breaking the kiss. "But this time I am going to _hold onto_ you. Men of action are expected to rescue _Princesses_, not Queens."

"And you are a man of action."

I gave her a smoldering look. "_Many_ actions."

"You are nervous, aren't you?"

"Hardly."

"Then hold on."

I put my arms around her, holding her as tightly as I dared.

* * *

The _smell_.

Gone was the fresh brine of the sea, and in its place was a stench that hung heavy and stagnant in the warm, moist air. I could smell rotting vegetation and wood, swollen and moldy, full to bursting with the leavings of vermin. Putrid black mud sucked cloyingly at my boots. I knew where we were, and I found myself quite unable to move.

"This is Wraithmarsh," Rose breathed, awestruck. "Wraithmarsh…which was once Oakvale."

"Do not speak," I hissed. It was called "Wraithmarsh" for good reason. The place was a nesting ground for banshees, and those who passed into the marsh were usually never seen again. The banshees were said to drive men mad, and then drown them in the mud so that their children could feast on dead flesh—or some such rubbish. What really mattered was that it was a very dangerous place. Rose had lost her weapons in the sea, but she still had her magic, and I still had the Paramour. I sincerely hoped it would function.

I bent to whisper against her ear, pressing my cheek to hers and scanning the swamp behind her. "You must be absolutely silent. I can guess why we have come here. I am not a fool. This place was virtually made by my hand. What I do not know is _when_ this is. If we are still following _me_…there are only two occasions which I had to come here. Neither of them went particularly well. The Shadow Court, the seat of the Judges who allowed me to take your mother's youth, is _here_, behind a door to which I alone possess the key. You must tell me immediately when you find the next portal and get us out of here. This is the worst place in Albion for you, now."

She nodded, lifting the hem of her skirt above the mud. I held her arm to steady her, though I was not at all under the illusion that she needed steadying. No, I found that contact with her skin steadied _me_.

_I got to touch her. I got to hold her and know she would be safe._ Rose's words, spoken with my voice, in my mind.

We trudged silently through the muck and the ruins of houses, listening. I gritted my teeth, cursing the agonizing suspense of it all. I was here somewhere…I could almost feel it. We were drawing very near to the Shadow Court, now, despite my wishes. The marsh seemed to shift as we moved, forcing us toward the door. Rose's hand tightened in mine, and I looked back at her questioningly. Her eyes were wide with horror. She pointed ahead of us and to the left, where a misshapen figure was shambling toward us. I pulled her behind the broken skeleton of a horse cart and peeked around it, one hand on my pistol.

The thing seemed to take no notice of us. It made its slow, top-heavy way through the marsh without hesitating or changing its course. I peered into the mist, straining my eyes to discern the nature of the creature. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder and glanced back at Rose. She took my free hand in both of hers, and she mouthed three words.

_That is you._

My blood seemed to freeze in my veins, filling my body with cruel needles of terror. I suddenly knew exactly what this was. I remembered it so clearly. I spun to look at the man in the marsh, growing closer now, making his way to the most horrible place the world had ever spawned. His back was slightly bent beneath the weight of an unconscious young man. His black, stringy hair fell over his face, but I knew that he was me. It was me, one year after the fall of Oakvale, come to make my first human sacrifice.

No…not my first. They had taken all of Oakvale. But this was the end of the first year of my immortality, and I was here to pay for it. This young stranger, a wealthy man I had robbed and incapacitated, was here to pay for it. I could not help but notice his beauty, even in the haze of the marsh. In many ways, we looked very much alike, this victim and I. His hair was the same color as mine, and his skin, too. He was tall and slender, and very well-dressed, and I recalled a certain carefree flamboyance in his bearing when he had been conscious. His face had the same sort of sophisticated bone structure. But what differences there were were jarring. His mouth was a perfect cupid's bow. Mine was drawn and pale, twisted with fear and anger. He was almost completely clean. I was covered in mud, and my cuffs were bloody. I remembered…I had shot him down on the road. I had been reconsidering the terms of my agreement with the Judges. I had come so close to simply letting my end of the bargain lapse. After what I saw in Oakvale, I had stopped caring about what might happen to me when they failed to get what they demanded. But then this pampered dandy had ridden up and his horse had kicked mud into my face as he passed. I knew then that I was tired of being the man I was. I would take _his_ life and his money, and I would live as I was _meant_ to live. I would become _Reaver_, the taker, the user, the robber, the _reaper_.

But the Judges had not been entirely happy with this damaged, bleeding man. They wanted their offerings whole and unspoiled. Their reprimand had added twenty years to my appearance. I had been sixteen when I had gone inside to give the rich man to the Judges. I had come out of it looking like a man of thirty-six. Since then, I had never failed them. I had cheated, lied, bribed, seduced, and blackmailed in order to get my victims where they were needed. I became better at it with each passing year. But they had never forgiven me. Those twenty years were mine to keep as a reminder of their power, each time I looked into a mirror.

I could not stop this poor boy. I _would_ not save the rich man. A sacrifice had to be made, and I would not allow it to be Rose, or me. He would have to suffer, as I had. He would have to learn. I was helpless to save him.

He stopped before the great door and dumped the rich man into the mud. He fumbled with something inside his jacket and brought out a disc-shaped object—the Dark Seal. Its edges sliced cruelly into his hands, growing slick with his blood and difficult to hold. He nearly dropped it twice before he managed to use it on the door. There was a great shuddering in the earth, and a black maw opened up in the stones. He placed the Seal in the rich man's jacket and grabbed him by the feet, dragging him into the darkness and out of sight.

I realized that I was trembling. I reached behind me for Rose, but my hand closed on air. I whirled, flinging mud in a wide spray with my boots. She was standing very still, her head cocked to one side, as though she were listening to something so faint that the smallest motion would swallow it forever. I heard nothing but the echoes of my younger self's progress through the bowels of the accursed chamber as he made his way to the Judges, and punishment.

"Is it a door?" I whispered fiercely.

She raised one hand, silencing me. "No. It is a song. Don't you hear it?"

I did not.

"They're singing," she moaned, drifting away toward a stand of reeds.

"_Who_ is singing? Rose, get back here!"

"The children." She looked back at me, quivering. The air had gone cold…_very_ cold. "Your gun. Draw your gun. They are coming."


	13. Chapter 13: Phantasm

**This chapter contains an original poem/song I wrote just for you guys. ^^ I'd like to thank every one of you for following this story as it has unfolded, and for your wonderful support. In particular, I would like to thank angelacm, deathofaraven, kiltsaresexy, bash 328, and greyskye for their wonderful, thoughtful reviews. Enjoy, my friends. :)**

* * *

The Paramour was already in my hand, the hammer ready to strike the plate at the barest twitch of my finger. Its barrel went wherever my eyes did as I scanned the area for movement. My breath jetted from my nose in steaming clouds, and the sweat on my brow was beginning to freeze.

"Where?" I asked quietly.

"They're all around us," Rose whispered, shivering against the cold. The air remained still, and the rot did not diminish with the chill. The mud, too, remained soft and greedy around our feet. Either the marsh was immune to the weather…or the cold was in _us_.

_ There's a black notion_, I thought grimly. It sounded like something Rose would believe, and unfortunately, Rose was nearly always right.

A blaze of warmth washed over me. Rose was holding orbs of fire in both hands, fire that grew brighter and stronger as the tense seconds crawled by. In less than a minute, her arms were lost in identical conflagrations that roared mightily, suckling the oxygen around her and melting the frozen beads on my face. I was grateful for the staggering heat, and even more so for the light. The reeds around her shriveled and blackened; indeed, the whole marsh seemed to cringe away from her. Something here did not like the fire.

"_There_!" she shouted, her voice strained with effort. I followed her gaze and saw three shapes materializing slowly nearby. They were tall and cloaked in translucent grey, with cowls that hung over their faces—if indeed they did have faces. They flickered as they moved toward us, seeming to slide in and out of reality. They did not walk. They simply disappeared and reappeared closer, ever closer. The sight was unnerving. It did not seem real.

I knew of a perfectly simple way to find out.

I pointed the Paramour at the head of the closest figure, sighting down the barrel almost casually. This was as easy as breathing, for me. I squeezed the trigger.

The explosion of gunpowder was deafening. I had nearly forgotten how incredibly _loud_ this gargantuan pistol was. But I reveled in the feel of the sound in my bones, echoing off the rocks and growing fainter as it disappeared into the air. I did not care that it would likely bring hollow men and whatever other ghastly things lurked in this light-forsaken place down on our heads. Let them come! Let them taste fear and death at our hands!

The bullet, though it had flown true, did not even slow the flickering progress of the creature. I cursed. _Banshees_. They would have wisps to protect them, and we would have to kill those, first, before it would be possible to harm their mothers. But where were the wisps?

"Those are banshees, Rose," I yelled over the snarling of the fire. "They cannot be harmed until their children are destroyed. They will look like balls of blue light—if you see them, _burn_ them!"

"I told you, they're _all_ _around us_! We cannot see them, but they are there. There are…there are _hundreds_ of them, Reaver. _Run_. When I release this fire, you must be far away, or it will kill you. Do you understand? _Run_!"

Her entire body was pulsing with intricate blue patterns of light. The ground trembled beneath her feet, and the air was growing very thin around her. The fire was feeding on it. I did not know how she was managing to breathe. But I backed away, my pistol trained on the head of the nearest banshee.

It disappeared, and then it was directly in front of me, reaching for me with gaunt, bony fingers tipped with brownish nails that had grown long and curled like claws. Clots of black blood dotted the dead flesh beneath them, and one nail was missing entirely, ripped away at the root. The banshee pointed with that maimed finger, shaking with palsy.

"_I know your true name_," she hissed, brushing my neck with her claws. I swatted her hand away and grimaced in disgust as some of her rotted flesh sloughed off and landed in the mud with a soft splatter.

"_Come with me, my love. I am your bride_," she continued relentlessly. I felt my strength waning. She was slowly drawing my life away. "_Or…I would have been…if you had asked me. Why did you not ask? I loved you. You won me. You stole me. You murdered me._"

"Now would be an excellent time to set the marsh on fire, Rose," I called out through my teeth, trying to put space between myself and the banshee. The wretched creature blinked in and out of existence, always reappearing inches from my face. I stole a look around it and saw Rose's small, white figure in the distance. The fire was gone. Two banshees loomed over her, and she swayed toward them, entranced.

"_No_, damn it! _Burn them_! _ROSE_!" I whipped the banshee smartly in the face with the barrel of my pistol and tried to run to the woman who had become my sole tether to this world.

One of the figures before her was a great deal larger than the other. The smaller one cradled her face in its pale hands. It lowered its head toward hers, tracing her throat with one long, black claw. As I made my way to her, I could hear its voice.

"_…died for you, died by your command. And you have forsaken me for the love of a monster. You would choose _him_ over me_? _No, Rose_. _Come home, now. Come with me. We will be together again. We will be together forever. You only need to let go, let yourself die, as I did. It is so easy, my love. Let the pain go, and come with me._"

"I can't," she whispered, angry tears blazing in her eyes despite her visible exhaustion. "I'm so sorry about whatever made you like this, whatever you are. But you are not him. You are not Elliot."

The larger banshee moved closer to her. "_You let the Darkness take me. You let it live inside me. Do you have any idea what it was like to have that thing in my body_? _Do you know how much agony I suffered when you struck me down in the end_? _Every slash of your blade, every bullet that penetrated my flesh, every searing bolt of lightning was _mine _to endure, even though I was a slave to the Crawler. I loved you with all of my heart. And you cut it out with your sword. Why didn't you save me, Rose_? _I would have done anything for you._"

Rose groaned through gritted teeth, squeezing her eyes shut against the onslaught of the banshee's words. She shook her head. "No. No, you _will not mock Walter_," she growled. "You will not mock _my father_, you monster! And you will not stop us!"

"_You are too weak to summon the fire, now, my love_," the boy, Elliot, said hoarsely. "_Just let it go_. _Die for the people, as I did. Die, and feed the children_."

A grey shape obscured my vision. My own banshee had caught up with me. I glared up at it—and froze. When I had struck her with my pistol, her hood had fallen away. Where there should have been a ruin of putrid flesh and squirming maggots, I found something far more horrifying. It was the face of a young woman, pale, but unspoiled. I knew that face as well as I knew my own. A low moan of horror escaped my numb lips, and I sank to my knees in the mud.

"_Yes_," she whispered. "_Say my name_."

"Angela." It was fragile and hollow, like a sound drawn up from a deep well.

Her dark eyes, so beautiful even now, held mine. Her full lips curved into a smile. "_I have missed you so much_."

I could not speak. A terrible heaviness had sunken into my bones and I felt myself sinking slowly into the black, tarry sludge of the marsh. My body was so very weak, now. My arms hung limply from their sockets. The Paramour had somehow ended up back in its holster.

"_Yes,_" Angela crooned. "_It's all right. Everyone forgives you. We know it wasn't your fault. We've been waiting for you. Oakvale is here, waiting for its prodigal son to return home forever. You and I will finally be married, and we will never die. One love, one life, one future, never-ending. Eternity waits for us...Adrian._"

I flinched. She reached up to brush her thick, brown hair away from her face and the sight of her rotted hand snapped me roughly back to reality.

"You really ought not to have chosen that particular face, my dear," I said to the vile creature, dragging myself to my feet. "I am not a forgiving man. Your wisps may be invisible, but they _are_ there. Let's see if we can't find them, shall we?"

I pulled out the Paramour and began shooting at random spots on the ground around the banshee, sustained by my anger. The mud exploded into the air with each bullet. I moved closer to Rose as I fired, and finally one of my shots found its mark. There was a burst of white-blue light, and the three banshees shrieked. I laughed almost madly, my face twisted into a ferocious grin of raw hatred. The Paramour, like the Dragonstomper, never seemed to run out of ammunition. I never had to reload it. I howled with delighted laughter.

More and more of my bullets found the invisible wisps, and soon the air was thick with the screams of the dead monstrosities. But the banshees were still draining us. Rose was standing, but only just. Her skin flared briefly with failed attempts to summon her Will and then went dim for good. She lashed out with her fists, instead, sending the smaller banshee winging away into the air before it blinked into nothingness and reappeared exactly where it had been. It pulled her face toward its own, clamping its mouth over hers.

"_You were always mine_," it moaned. "_You can't leave me_."

I launched myself at it with an animalistic roar, but it vaporized and I landed in the mud. The impact drove the air from my lungs, and when I sucked in a wheezing breath, the stench of death filled my nose and mouth. I gagged.

"_Run_, Rose!" I yelled, pulling myself up. "Get away from them!"

"There's nowhere to run," she cried, grabbing my arm and helping me to my feet. "Look!"

The banshees had moved away, but something was happening to the marsh. The mud was churning and bubbling, and wet shapes were erupting from its surface, spraying flecks of muck into the air. They looked like sticks, at first, but I soon recognized them for what they were.

"Hollow men." My voice sounded dead. "Hundreds of them. Rose, darling, I think this might be a good time to open the next door."

"It isn't here," she said tersely. "We'll have to fight."

"If you have a strategy wherein two half-dead Heroes, one of whom has no weapons and no Will, can hold off several hundred hollow men and three banshees, I am eager to hear it."

She was silent.

I held the Paramour with increasingly unsteady hands, prepared to go down fighting if I had to. I would protect us to the last. I would protect her.

Rose gasped, touching her lips with an expression of discovery on her pale, muddy face.

"What? What is it?" I asked sharply. The hollow men were swarming, the slime of the marsh that had spawned them dripping from their bones like some kind of horrible afterbirth.

"His tongue…it was in my mouth."

"That. Is _revolting_." I swallowed hard to keep down my gorge.

"Yes, but…I could…I felt the song. I remember it. The song of the children. It was on the banshee's tongue. Now it's on mine."

"If you have a plan, don't waste time telling me the details. For the love of Avo, stop your ruminations and _just do something_!"

"I will."

She stepped forward and raised her hands slowly into the air. Drawing in a deep breath, she opened her mouth wide and began to sing.

"_Daybreak cuts the mourning tree  
when time returns to eat its fruit.  
The elder bough is dark and wet  
with beads of sorrow and regret. _

_Brother branch is young and green,  
but not the bitter wick between  
the shell of what he seems to be  
and those bright fibers of his core. _

_We're all rotting as we grow,  
forever damp with others' tears.  
Tall and fragile, ripe with pain,  
where insects and their eggs have lain._

_Mother earth is mad with fear.  
Cannot think or speak or hear.  
Father sky is out of reach.  
We've no clean rain to ease our thirst._

_What's so wrong in all of us,  
that we must go on living thus?  
We tear our only roots to threads  
while screaming hunger to the stones._

_I am like the broken branch.  
Their pain pours out of me like sap.  
And every moment feels like mine,  
in cutting ways I can't define._

_I have touched the lifeless Void,  
and I am on my knees again.  
Avo, hold the shadows back  
before the last limb starts to crack._"

Bright balls of light lit up the ground as far as my eyes could see. They rose into the air and drifted toward us. Rose took my hand and pulled me against her, cradling my head against her breast. The wisps flew higher and began to spin lazily around us, bathing us in their strange brightness. The hollow men collapsed into piles of old, brown bone, moldy cloth, and rotted leather. Their wisps, too, had abandoned them.

I gazed about us in wonder. The wisps were whirling through the air, screening us from the banshees. I felt my strength returning. I wrapped my arms around Rose, kissing her desperately. I was overcome with relief and the stark knowledge of the dearness of my life, and hers, which were still ours to keep today. And when her lips parted, I felt the song enter me, too, and understood.

Wraithmarsh was alive. It was a place of death, but it had given life to awful things. It was a garden of souls, the spirits of the wronged, and the Shadow Court fed on its sadness just as it fed on the travelers who passed through it. And somewhere beneath its hideous exterior, Oakvale still existed. That it was capable of sadness was proof of its benevolent beginnings. It was a monument to the memory of the lost families, lovers, friends, and enemies that were buried here. It was evidence that they had once lived, and that they would not be forgotten.

Rose was crying. I realized that I was, as well.

"Your name," she said, wiping her eyes. "Tell me your name."

The wisps whirled faster at the sound of her sweet voice. They responded with soft little sounds like tiny bells, crooning and chirping as they moved around us and gave us their protective light.

I kissed her softly on each eyelid, stroking her face with my fingertips. "I am Adrian White. My name is Adrian White, and I _love_ you, Rose." My voice was rough with emotion, but the wisps seemed not to mind. They trilled musically as they whizzed by. "I love you, wretched, terrible man though I am. I do not deserve you, my dear, but I will care for you until my black heart ceases to beat. Your enemies are my enemies. Your friends, my friends. Your life, my sole reason for drawing breath."

She gazed up at me and caught my hand in hers, massaging it gently. She pressed her brow to mine. "And I, Rose, daughter of Sparrow and Walter, love you, Adrian. I have loved you for more than 300 years, and I will never, ever stop."

The wisps were spinning so swiftly through the air that I could no longer distinguish one from another. They were melting together around us. While they sang their odd little songs, the ground shuddered, and the broken beams and frames of the ruins of Oakvale began to rise up out of the marsh. As they ascended, they knitted back together, forming the shapes of cottages, barns, and shops. The mud crawled up the skeletons of the buildings to flesh them out in stone, plaster, wood, and paint.

Oakvale had risen again.

Rose smiled. "You opened the door, this time. All by yourself."

"I _am_ a man of action," I chuckled, kissing her again as the wisps faded away. "_Many_ actions. You would be astonished by what I am capable of doing when I set my mind to it."


	14. Chapter 14: Oakvale

I lifted my face to the sun, closing my eyes and breathing deeply. I held Rose close, one hand on her head where it was resting against my chest, the other wrapped around her waist. The warmth of her body eased the last remaining spikes of fear from my heart, leaving only a soaring sensation of freedom in their wake. For a while, I simply listened. I could hear birdsong, the distant chatter of people, the groaning of the windmill, the hushed sweep of a light breeze through lush, green leaves…it was summertime in Oakvale. Everything was alive. All of the horrible things I had done…they had never happened.

I gazed down at Rose and kissed the top of her head gently. "Let us stay here," I whispered seductively into her hair. "I shall have a house built for us, and we will simply _live_."

She looked at me with grave tenderness. "This town is not long for this world. You know that."

"Can't we stop it? Make it so that…it never happens?"

"That would kill you," she whispered. "It would kill my mother, and I would never exist. Yet we are alive. You know what that means."

I knew. It meant that I would make the selfish choice. I would send Oakvale to its grave again for my own sake and the sake of the woman I loved. I hugged her tightly, as if the mere _thought_ of stopping the Shadows would rip her from me.

"Show me?" she murmured, almost hesitantly, as though she feared that the question would break me.

"You'd like to see Oakvale?" I asked, surprised.

"I would like to see what purchased our lives. But only if you feel that you can. I do not want to push you. I know this is not easy. These people died for me, too."

"You never asked them to."

"Neither did you, from what I understand, and I am letting them die just as surely as you are."

I let out a long sigh. What could it hurt? We had come this far. I released Rose and offered her my arm. "Your Majesty. If you will permit me, I would be honored to show you my humble home."

One corner of her mouth pulled up in a half-smile as she took my arm, looking regal even spattered with the mud from Wraithmarsh and wearing a silk dress made for a man. I imagined I looked a good deal worse. But I led her into the town, anyway. A wide dirt path led from the bridge and the mill into the green fields, which were dotted with houses and shops. The heady, sweet smell of blueberry pie made me salivate as we passed an open-air stall. When _was_ the last time I had eaten? It had to have been at _least_ 300 years ago.

"Would you like one?" I asked Rose, who was eyeing the steaming pies longingly.

"We don't have any money," she reminded me.

"And yet, not at _all_ what I was asking you."

"We have no money," she maintained stubbornly.

"We will. Observe."

I nodded to a lanky, handsome youth about fifty feet from us who was casually dipping his hand into a woman's purse.

Rose gasped softly. "That's…"

"Oh yes, that's me," I said, watching him secret his ill-gotten coins into his pocket. He walked toward us, taking a casual bite from a small peach. "I would introduce you, but that would interfere with my purposes. Why don't you go and say hello, yourself?"

She stared incredulously at me.

"Go on," I insisted. "Go and stand in the middle of the road for a moment. And don't look at me. Look at _him_. Give him your most compelling, _sensual_ gaze. Believe me, I'm sixteen years old and it _will_ stop me."

Rose suppressed a laugh and did as I asked, walking a few paces away from me and watching the boy approach. His eyes found her immediately, and his pupils dilated visibly with attraction despite the dirty, disheveled gown she wore. I felt a blaze of pride in my chest. My Rose was the essence of captivating beauty. No man was safe from her—especially not me. I knew what I liked.

"I don't believe I've seen _you_ here before," young Adrian said brashly, brushing his dark hair out of his face. "And I'm quite sure I'd remember if I had."

"I have come from _very_ far away, indeed. Do you know where I might find some new clothes? As you can see, mine have seen better days," she replied, smiling that perfect, slow smile of hers. I felt my heart jump, and noticed Adrian's adam's apple bob slightly. I moved toward them, positioning myself behind him. In an instant, the boy's stolen coins were in my hand. I deposited them safely in my pocket and stepped back. _Amateur_. Sometimes the best mark was another thief. One must _always_ be aware of one's surroundings.

"One pie, please," I muttered pleasantly to the vendor, handing him a coin.

"There is a tailor just around the corner, there. I can escort you if you'd like," Adrian offered hopefully.

She beamed. "You are too kind. Thank you, but I think I have taken up quite enough of your time. I'm sure we'll meet again."

"If you'd like to, just ask for _Reaver_," he said smoothly, clearly impressed with himself. "I'll find you."

I put my head in my hand, choking back the laughter that had been building up inside me. Hearing it on the lips of that idiot boy, I realized it really _was_ a silly nickname. He sounded absolutely ridiculous. Only my prowess and reputation had made it a name to be respected and feared. Without that, it was…well, it was rather adorable.

Rose bowed her head graciously and waited for him to go on his way. He did so, looking back once and smirking around the peach. She returned to me, and I slid an arm around her waist. He stopped looking at once.

"Pie?" I offered, holding up my fresh prize.

"You are _both_ too kind," she said, taking half of it with eager fingers. "You called yourself 'Reaver' even in Oakvale?"

I took a bite and winced as the hot blueberries burned my tongue. "I was breaking it in, as I recall. I was trying to make a name for myself as a thief, albeit, as you saw, not a very good one."

"You cannot judge others based on yourself," she chided. "It isn't fair."

"How so?" I leaned toward her and kissed a bit of blueberry filling from one of her fingers, sucking it gently. My eyes burned into hers. She swayed slightly on weakened knees, and I released her, satisfied.

"You're not…people cannot be…as _good_ as you are," she stammered, and a flush spread delicately over her cheeks. "You've had so long to live. So much time to learn."

"Then what exactly is _your_ excuse? How did _you_ turn out so stunningly impressive?"

"Good breeding," she answered solemnly.

We both lost ourselves in fits of laughter, allowing the tension of our horrifying journey to fall away. It felt so very good. After several minutes, we ate the rest of the pie and made our way to the tailor. I passed the rest of the coins over and bought a new dress for Rose. I despaired of finding _anything _in my size there. We both positively _towered_ over everyone else.

While Rose was being fitted, I strolled around the back of the tailor's shop to the pub, where a lovely young girl was playing a game of cards at one of the outdoor tables. Adrian sat across from her, gazing at her in much the same way Rose had gazed at the blueberry pie. A soft sigh of pain escaped my lips before I could stop it. He was playing at cards with Angela Mercer, the miller's daughter…the love of his young, foolish life. Loving her had been the only sensible thing I had managed to do in those early days. I studied her face, leaning against a post and crossing my arms. Her skin was tanned with long hours spent in the sun, where she loved to paint portraits and landscapes. She had done one of me, and I had never found another artist's work satisfactory, again. I had shot them all for not being Angela.

"I can _see_ you reaching for that deuce, Adrian," she said mildly, regarding him with sharp, dark eyes. "Are you really that unsure of your ability to beat me fairly?"

"Everything is fair as long as you get away with it," Adrian replied unflappably, leaving the card in his boot and leaning forward on his elbows. "Besides, no one has _ever_ beaten you. How do _I_ know that _you _are not cheating?"

Angela laughed. "Because you _know_ I'm actually this good."

"Is that so?"

"It is so." She laid her cards flat on the table. "Your epitaph, Master White, for your viewing pleasure."

His face fell for a moment. I knew it to be a farce to get her to drop her guard. I remembered every moment of this day. It was, in many ways, the most important day of my life.

"You _are_ good," he admitted.

"It's simple mathematics, as I've told you many times. You could be good, Adrian, if you would stop trying to cheat all the time and apply your mind to the actual rules of the game."

"Hmmm…" He pretended to consider her words. I knew for a fact that he had studied the game with _intense _concentration for weeks, all for this moment. "There is merit in your words. How about a little wager, then? To motivate me."

"You _do_ seem to need a solid dose of motivation," Angela agreed. "Honestly, you have so much talent and you are _wasting_ yourself on this ridiculous thieving lark. With a mind like yours, you could be a very successful business man someday, you know."

"That's very tempting. I'll consider it."

"What is your wager?"

He leaned back and folded his arms, smirking. "500 gold coins."

Angela stared blankly at him for a moment, but she took the bait. "Well, that is absurd, as you don't _have_ 500 coins. But you do have my attention. Against?"

"A kiss."

She laughed in disbelief. "A kiss from me is worth 500 gold coins to you? Not to mention the humiliation of _yet another_ defeat?"

"A kiss from you is worth the _world_," he said steadily, suddenly deeply serious.

I looked away. Rose was standing a few feet behind me, watching me with great interest. She looked incredible, clothed in simple cotton like a farmer's daughter. I held out my hand, and she took it, coming to stand beside me.

"That's her, isn't it? The one you loved?"

"Yes."

"She's beautiful. And she has _spunk_. I like her. She's very forward-thinking."

I smiled. "Yes, it's really a good thing that you two never met. Together, you would have turned me honest, and who wants _that_? I would cease to be interesting, and you would be obliged to find another rogue to tame."

"I would do no such thing," she said gently. "I could no more leave you than I could stop the passing of the seasons."

"Well, you've just won my argument for me, because _you_ most certainly _can_ stop the seasons. But that was rather sweet, all the same, my dear. Tell me, is _our _Albion still frozen in time, with poor Logan trapped in mid-lunge, right now?"

She shook her head, lowering her eyes. "No. That spell does not last for long. He must be beside himself."

"He did seem rather put out. He _was_ trying to stab me to death when you so rudely interrupted," I reminded her.

"How lucky for you that I am so ill-mannered," she said dryly. "Oh, look, you've gone."

I followed her gaze. The table was empty.

"That, my dear, is because I _won_. Because I _always_ win, in the end. I've gone to arrange for the reception of the spoils of my victory. Angela, I imagine, has gone to wrestle with her poorly-repressed feelings for me."

"I thought it was just a kiss."

I made a face. "When is it ever _just_ a kiss with me? You know my flair for the _dramatique_."

Rose grinned. "I didn't realize it had developed so early."

"See for yourself, if you like," I suggested. "We'll be by the water, once the sun has set and the stars have come out."

She sighed wistfully. "We really must try that, ourselves, sometime. _Our_ last date was atrocious. We almost died."

I squeezed her hand. "Apparently that is a pattern with me, darling. Angela and I will draw very close to death's door tonight, as well."

Her eyes widened. "You what?"

"We will need to be there," I said grimly. "I have a sneaking suspicion that their salvation depends on _us_. I seem to remember my rescuer being indescribably beautiful. I thought she was an angel—I was very nearly dead and quite hysterical, so I pardon myself for entertaining such a ridiculous idea. But…now I think she may very well have been _you_."

* * *

**Thanks, everyone, for reading and reviewing! We're drawing close to the heart of the matter, wherein we discover how Reaver came to be so afraid of his mortality. Raven left a very good question in her latest review, which I'd like to answer publicly in case anyone else was wondering about the name I chose to give him: Adrian White. I chose it very carefully. First, there is the obvious parallel with _The Picture of Dorian Gray_, which deals with a man whose immortality is owed to a picture that ages for him. The creators of Fable had him in mind, apparently, when they designed Reaver, so I wanted to do a nod to that. Second, "Adrian" is indeed an old and strong name, as Raven said, and it means "dark" and, in some cases, "rich/wealthy." Last, the surname of White was chosen for multiple reasons: **

**1. To form a stark contrast to Rose's ancestral line, which begins with the first Archon of the Old Kingdom, William Black (who may be Scythe, by the way...nudge nudge!).**

**2. To demonstrate Reaver's duality. A dark first name and a light surname. He could have gone either way, in my opinion, as is true of us all. The event I'm about to write in the next chapter sealed his fate. **

**3. Because it is a common, ordinary name. It is one of the more common surnames in Britain. I wanted to stress his humble beginnings.**

**4. White is a common theme throughout this story, showing up all over the place with white roses, white snow, white dresses, and even Reaver's white coat and pants. White is the color most associated with death in many cultures, though it can also suggest purity.  
**

**You may have noticed another common theme-water (in the form of the sea, the snow, and the marsh, etc.) has made an appearance in almost every memory we've visited, here. There is a reason for that, and you will see it very soon!  
**


	15. Chapter 15: Crux

"This is the place."

I led Rose to a stretch of pale beach just beyond the edge of the forest. It was perfectly secluded, and it faced almost due west; the view was spectacular here when the daylight began to die. I was pleased that we had reached it in time to see it. The horizon was melting into the sea in warm runnels of orange and gold beneath the bold semicircle of the sun as we made ourselves comfortable in the shadow of a massive oak. Rose had charmed a stable hand into allowing us to borrow a large, thick blanket, and we spread it over the soft loam, taking care to stay out of sight. Angela and I would be approaching from another path, and they would not see us…not until they needed to. Not until they needed this blanket.

I tried to clear my mind as we sat down, listening to the thunderous crashing of the waves as they broke over the shore. How curious that I should take to the sea so well after such a harrowing brush with death there. In all likelihood, it was a form of defiant arrogance. After my punishment at the hands of the Shadow Judges, I had deliberately sought out all of the things that had frightened the mortal man I had been and conquered them, as I had conquered _him_. I had thrown off the shackles of death, and I systematically began to free myself from the other trappings of humanity—fear, love, empathy…. I believed I was experiencing ultimate freedom. But I was beginning to realize that I had become a slave. I lived to bring sacrifices to the Shadow Court, though their purposes were beyond my comprehension. And for myself, I existed…merely for the sake of existing. All of the things I had thrown away with my name had left me open to an enemy far more insidious than death.

_Waste_. The slow death of the _soul_, after the quintessential heart has ceased to function in a human being and only the cold mind and the hot beast of instinct remain to torment each other. _That_ was my slice of eternity.

"How long?"

I leaned against the oak and pulled Rose into my lap, deeply grateful for her comforting warmth. I watched the flutter of her pulse below her jawline. It reminded me of the ticking of some great cosmic clock, marking the dwindling number of moments she had left to share with me. The beats were running out of her like sand from an hourglass. I hugged her tightly and shook the thought from my mind. "Not long, now, _ma __belle_. We need only wait for night to fall. Enjoy the sunset while you can."

I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of her clean cotton clothing, and remembered…

* * *

"_All right. Tell me how you did it, Adrian."_

_Angela was a vision of natural beauty in her loose cotton dress, digging her bare toes into the sand as she sat beside me. I could still smell the sunlight on her skin, even in the coolness of the night. The moon was full and bright, hanging low in the sky, illuminating her face. I saw doubt and concern there, and I smirked._

_I swept up a handful of sand and let the fine grains run down her bare calf. "You told me to use my head, and I took your advice. Had I known how rich the rewards could be, I would have listened to you long ago."_

_She blushed deeply, brushing the sand away. "Your priorities are all wrong."_

"_Are they?"_

"_Yes!" she cried passionately. "You have so much potential, and you're turning into a common criminal. How many times have you been arrested, now?"_

"_Just the one time."_

"_That's because of luck, and a lot of patience from a lot of good people. That won't last forever, you know. Sooner or later, you're going to find yourself in a terrible situation. You're going to regret this path, I promise you. And…and I hate having to watch it, knowing that."_

_I leaned toward her, cupping her chin in my hand. "I had no idea you cared so much, Angela."_

_That was, of course, a complete lie. I knew that she loved me every bit as much as I loved her. She just refused to admit it._

"_Of _course_ I care," she said, taking my hand away from her face and squeezing it tightly. "We grew up together, Adrian. You're my best friend. I want you to be happy."_

"_Angela…" I gazed earnestly into her dark eyes, stroking her hand with my thumb. "_You _make me happy. And _I _make _you_ happy."_

"You _give _me_ migraines," she corrected, trying to keep her tone light. But I would not have any of it. Not anymore. It was far past time to stop playing games. I had played by her rules, and I had won fairly. _

"_You give yourself migraines. If you would just admit to yourself that you're madly in love with me and cannot imagine a life without me in it, you would feel much better. Honestly, I cannot understand why you've been making this so hard for yourself…" I leaned forward to brush my lips over her temple, and whispered against her skin, "…when it could be as easy…as breathing."_

"_You're an arrogant sod, Adrian White," she said, color flaring high in her cheeks. She dropped my hand and stood up abruptly, walking toward the water. I followed her, admiring the way her dress hugged her curves as the wind whipped the fabric tightly against her voluptuous body. Angry, or not, she had to know that I was right. Perhaps she did, and that was why she was so angry._

"_What is the matter?" I demanded, overtaking her and making a point of standing in her way. The waves broke over my ankles, leaving them sticky with bubbling foam as they receded. I dug my heels into the wet sand to steady myself. "Angela, I have loved you for years. You know that."_

"_You have a strange way of showing it," she said sadly._

"_What on earth do you mean?" I took her hands in mine again, staring at her in surprise. "For Avo's sake, I've been following you like a lost _pup_ since I was twelve years old, Angela. Do you not notice all the things I do to try to impress you?" I tucked a lock of her thick, dark hair behind her ear. "There is nothing I would like more than to spend the rest of my life with you."_

_A sheen of tears caught the moonlight and held it for an instant, but she blinked it away. "And how do you propose to support such a life? As a highwayman, robbing innocent people, taking from _their _families so that _our _family can survive?" She shook her head. "This is what you fail to understand, Adrian. That is not a life, and if you prefer that world over an honest one, you will have to give me up. I love you, I do, but I will not live in that world. I can't."_

_I felt as though I had been slapped. _This _was the reason she refused my advances? How had I missed it? I thought her resistance had been a sort of lovers' game, or a way of protecting her virtue. I closed my eyes tightly, cursing my shortsightedness. _

All right_, I assured myself, taking a slow breath. _You can salvage this. At least you know what the problem is. Now, grab her and fix it.

_She was watching me sorrowfully, as though my inner struggles were playing out on my face—which they probably were, at least for her. Angela could read people like books. It was part of what made her unbeatable at cards, and so adept at capturing the tiny details that turned a mere painting into _art. _It was why I loved her. Out of everyone I had ever met, only Angela had ever seen me for who I truly was. I gripped her upper arms and looked deeply into her eyes—those dark, penetrating eyes which missed nothing, no matter how inconsequential—so that she would see the truth in my words._

"_Angela. Listen to me—"_

"_No, _you _listen," she interrupted, touching a finger to my lips. "I can tell already that you're thinking of ways to change my mind, to make your life look to me the way it does to you. Save your breath. It never will. It is _because _I love you that I know that the things you have been doing are going to hurt you someday, and probably kill you. I won't be a part of that. I have chosen my world. I know what my future holds. You cannot sway me or take me away from it. You must decide your own future for yourself, Adrian. An honest life with me, or a false life you have to steal from others. You cannot have both."_

_My chest ached. How could I make her understand? "But this is what I'm good at. This is the _only _thing I'm good at, in fact, which makes it that much harder for me to show you how much I love you, and for that I am truly sorry. But the heists, the cons, the thieving…it all feels so natural. I could be great. I could be the best in the world. I _know_ it. Give me time, and I will prove it to you. Anything you want, anything at all, I will be able to give you. You will want for nothing, with me. We'll be wealthy, Angela, and we'll see the whole world together. Life…life is something to be _seized_. We're young. We owe it to ourselves to live our lives as fully as we can, while we can."_

"_You and I have very different ideas about what makes a life full, Adrian. I can't build my happiness on the misfortunes of others. I won't."_

_ "Could you be happy with someone else?" I asked. "Really, truly happy?"_

_ Angela looked away, shaking her head and wiping tears from her face._

_ "There…" I whispered, drawing her into an embrace. "Angela, I know I have your love. Now give me your trust. I will make you happy. I promise."_

_ She looked at me for a long moment, chewing her lip. "I know you'll try," she said at last._

_ That was enough for me. I smiled and picked her up, spinning in place in the shallow water. She laughed and squealed as we overbalanced and tumbled in. I sat up and slicked the water from my hair with a swift sweep of my hand, grinning at her. Her thin dress clung to her wet skin, but I only had a moment to appreciate this new visual delight before a wave drove her body against mine. I felt my face burn with sudden nerves as my heart hammered in my chest, and I swallowed hard. I had never been quite this close to her in quite this way, before, and though I had dreamed of it _many _times, the reality was overwhelming. Our faces were only inches apart. I could feel her shortened breaths mingling softly with mine._

_ "Adrian…" She seemed to have run out of words._

_ "You owe me a kiss," I reminded her._

_ She went scarlet. Another wave rolled over us, and I took the opportunity to pull her on top of me, letting the water push her into my arms. We sat up again, gasping a little. Her soft breast heaved against mine, and I felt a distinct tightening in my stomach, sickeningly wonderful, which spread lower by the second. The world around me was growing hazy. My eyes were half-lidded now, heavy with desire._

_ Angela's eyes darted downward, then back to mine, almost as though she had been caught doing something shameful. Her hands clutched my shoulders as I supported her against the next wave, straining to keep my back straight. It was probably idiotic of us to stay in the water, but it never occurred to either of us to move. We were paralyzed by the intimacy of our position. In that moment, it seemed to me that this was the most incredible place in the world._

_ "You made a wager," I insisted huskily. "If you do not honor it, I'll be forced to report you to the magistrate. It would ruin your reputation as a gamester."_

_ "Oh, do shut up, Adrian." She smiled broadly, sliding her arms around my neck. "No one would ever put your word before mine, and you know it. It is one of the advantages of living honestly."_

_ "Fine. Since you want honesty so badly, here's some."_

_ I held her face in my hands and kissed her mouth gently. When our lips touched, I felt a blast of heat surge through my veins, and I pulled her tightly against me, breathing harder and faster. My hands slid over her shoulders and down her sides to rest on her waist. The waves continued to break over us, but I held her firmly against them. With every surge of water that pushed her body against mine, I felt my passion grow. My head buzzed with it, my hands and feet tingling as my blood rushed downward. I was hyperventilating, growing dizzy as our kiss deepened. I closed my eyes. Her tongue brushed my lips and I opened them to her with a low moan._

_ The tide was going out, and the sand had been running slowly out from under us as we were pulled backward, little by little, with the receding of each wave. I could make no sense of time. Eventually, we were standing, and I put my hands on her hips and lifted her, wrapping her legs around my waist. The water made it effortless._

_ She broke the kiss, gasping for breath. "Maybe we ought to stop."_

_ I blinked, still lost in a fog of ardor. "Why?"_

_ "Adrian, I can't swim."_

_ "I won't drop you," I chuckled, kissing her again. "You're safe with me."_

* * *

"It is nearly time," I murmured grimly, getting to my feet and extending a hand to Rose.

She took it, gathering up the blanket as she stood. "I'm ready. Tell me what you need me to do."

I pointed across the beach, where two figures stood chest-deep in the water, locked in a passionate embrace. "They have been picking up speed, as you see, though they have not yet noticed the danger in that. The current is pulling them out to sea. It seems I was right; without us, they will drown. Angela does not know how to swim, and I was…incapacitated. In a moment, they will realize their predicament, and when they do, they will panic. Then the undertow will take them both."

"Why are we waiting for that? What happened tonight?"

"My rebirth. A baptism by fear. I went into the water one man and emerged another. You see," I explained, drawing her close and gazing out over the black waves, "this is how I came to meet the Judges. _They_ found _me_, when I was on the edge of death. And then, Rose, my love…_you_ did. I think perhaps they may have known you were coming. They seized their chance, knowing that I would survive to give them what they wanted."

She froze. The blanket fell from her hands, and she stared at me in horror. "Reav—Adrian… If that is true, then you must understand the implications. It means that _my_ existence gave them the opportunity to use you. And it means that the Judges knew I would come here. They must have a way to see into other worlds and times, as I do. And…just as I was born because Oakvale died…Oakvale died because I was born." She bowed her head, pressing her fingers to her temples. "Sweet, merciful Avo…this is all my doing. I gave them this chance! I doomed you!"

"No, my love," I said, stopping her mouth with a kiss. "You rescued me. That is all. I made the decision to take their offer on my own. I chose my future."

"I…I'm afraid this changes everything. If they knew I was coming, then they have power I did not suspect. It means that you and I are in grave danger. I was so sure of myself because I was able to look into my own future and see some of the results of what we did here…but if I was wrong, if I made the slightest miscalculation…if I missed something…we may not survive what is to come."

I stroked her hair, trying to calm her. "Why would we be in danger? All of this has already happened. You said so, yourself."

"Because the Judges come from the Void, and that is where the Darkness was born. I killed the Crawler, but that was only one manifestation of a vast power. They have been routed for now, but one day, there _will_ be another invasion. Your life proves that there is still a portal from the Crawler's world to ours." She regarded me with a profound gravity I had never seen in her eyes before. It was a look that belonged on a woman who had consigned herself to the gallows, and it shook me to the quick.

"I mean to close that door forever, Adrian, and they know it."


	16. Chapter 16: Inception

**Thank you all for your great reviews! I'm also deeply grateful to everyone who has favorited and followed this story. :) I have to warn you that this chapter will be a bit gruesome in places, but you were probably expecting that, considering the circumstances. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks very much to angelacm, deathofaraven, greyskye, and kiltsaresexy for their wonderful feedback. You are all absolutely fantastic.**

* * *

A horrible sense of dread settled slowly into my lungs, colder than steel and just as heavy. I could not believe what I had just heard.

"Rose… What have you done?" I whispered, when I finally found my breath.

"That is a very good question, and one I'm asking myself, actually," Rose answered, bending to retrieve the blanket. She stood, folding it in her arms and hugging it to her chest. "Someone else knows the answer better than I do, right now. I'm sorry, I…I cannot be sure, anymore, about what we can expect from here. You must have noticed that I am not quite as surefooted as I was when we started this. I never expected to meet this kind of interference so soon."

"What interference? What are you talking about?"

"Walk with me, and I will try to explain…"

I followed her onto the beach, toward the water, where my younger self was still kissing Angela, blissfully unaware of the terrible things that were about to happen to both of them. My gait was not as steady as I would have liked. I remembered Theresa's words.

_You must reclaim your own name if you hope to survive what is to come. I have seen what Rose cannot, but her course is true. She promised you a gift beyond your wildest dreams, and she will keep her word. But you must be the one to seize it when the time comes. Prepare yourself._

I felt a surge of anger. The meddling, manipulative _hag_! She had known exactly what Rose was doing, and that it would put her in danger, and she had said _nothing_. She had allowed Rose to go blindly forward, possibly to her death. After all, what did Theresa care for Rose? What did she care for anyone, beyond how they might serve her in her cryptic machinations? She had taken the Tattered Spire for herself after I killed Lucien. No one had opposed her. I began to wonder…what could she have possibly wanted with it?

Rose spread the blanket over the sand, looking uncharacteristically distressed. When had I _ever_ seen true fear in her eyes? She spoke in a rush of quiet murmurs, making for the sea. "You are a Hero, Reaver—oh bloody hell, forgive me—_Adrian_. Habits die hard, as you know well. Adrian…you are the Hero of Skill. Your bloodline can be traced to Briar Rose, the best pistoleer there ever was, until _you_ were born. For you, all the countless things which fall under the area of Skill, such as accuracy, speed, lightning reflexes, and extreme dexterity, come to you naturally. Your great height is a result of the increase of that Skill over the long years. It affects your growth hormones, just as it has affected mine. My ancestor was William Black, the First Archon of the Old Kingdom, and he harnessed all three of the Heroic powers. So have I. My mastery of Will grants me a certain level of…intuition. I can sense the Darkness coming for your younger self, even now, so we must hurry. But there are two other presences around us, pulling at each other as we move through these stages of your life. One is guiding us through the doors, choosing which ones to open, which memories to access. The other is trying to knock us off course. I have been bending my Will upon the task of aiding the one who is on our side, and that is what has kept the Other from halting us. I believe we will continue to succeed, because as I told you, time cannot be changed. What I failed to realize is that everything we have done left us open to the purposes of the Darkness. It used us. It used me, to save your life and bring down Oakvale. It knows I will not let you drown, now, because I love you, and I love my mother. It knows, as I know, that I will make the selfish choice, because our very existence proves that my choice was made, here, both long ago, and right now."

We were running, now, running into the sea. I knew that I would choose to save Angela, just as Rose would choose the boy, Adrian. And in the end, only three of us would survive the coming Darkness.

* * *

_"Adrian, we've got to go back, now." The pitch of Angela's voice was rising with her panic. "The water is too deep! Your feet aren't even touching the bottom!"_

_ "I've got you," I said, straining to tread water with only my legs, holding her head above the choppy water. "I'll get us back to shore."_

_ A large wave broke over our heads, and we coughed, sputtering, struggling to clear the saltwater from our stinging eyes. Angela was clinging to my neck, her eyes wide with fear. Her breaths came in gasps. Once, when she was a young child, she had fallen into a pond and very nearly drowned. Her father had rescued her, but she never overcame her fear of the water. She once confided in me that drowning was nothing like the peaceful tales sailors liked to tell, of a gentle sleep from which one simply never awoke unless someone came along to save them. It was, she said, pure agony._

_ "I'll get us back," I repeated, kicking toward the distant beach with all of my strength. "I promise. Everything is going to be fine."_

* * *

"I cannot see them!" I shouted over the rolling thunder of the waves. Rose and I were far from the shore, now.

She closed her eyes, floating on her back. Through the sodden fabric of her thin, cotton dress, I saw the fierce glow of blue Will patterns beating in time with her heart. "I feel them," she said at length. "They're close." She turned upright again and pointed. "Angela is there, and the current is sweeping her further out to sea. You must get to her. Keep her safe, and when you find her, bring her back to shore with or without me. If she is not breathing, you must lay her flat on the blanket and press down on her chest, hard. Do this thirty times, and then you must tilt her head back, ensure that her airway is clear, pinch her nose closed, cover her mouth with yours, and breathe into her before repeating the compressions. Do you understand? Thirty at a time! Leave the rest to me."

"How do you know how to do this?" I demanded as we swam.

"I told you—I have opened many doors and stolen glimpses of hundreds of other worlds. Some of them have developed far, far beyond our own. Now go!"

* * *

_We were sinking fast. Something was pulling us down toward the ocean floor. Angela slipped out of my arms, ripped away by a current I had not known was there. I had perhaps one moment to wonder at the strength of the undertow before the surprise wore off and real terror seized me._

_ I tried to scream her name, but all that came out was a gurgling roar of bubbles, and when the water surged into my mouth, my throat closed, choking off the rest of my air. I squinted through the cold, murky darkness, kicking for the surface—and my foot struck the knotted remains of someone's fishing net and became entangled in it. Something rooted the netting to the sandy bottom, and me with it._

No…no…no, no, NO!

_ I clawed at the net, frenzied, choking, but unable to make a sound because my throat was locked tightly against the crushing intrusion of the water. I could neither inhale nor exhale. I could only swallow saltwater, and my stomach lurched painfully in protest, expelling its contents into the sea around me. I shook my head violently to get away from the cloudy mess and regretted the movement immediately. My head pounded agonizingly with every beat of my heart, and my muscles burned with sharp spasms from the lack of oxygen. My chest heaved and shuddered, convulsing as I fumbled weakly with the net. I could not feel my fingers. My peripheral vision was leaving me. I felt as though I were looking through a long tunnel into the gray-black water around me. Bursts of light popped and crackled before my eyes. I was no longer struggling._

I don't want to die, _I thought desperately as my body relaxed against my will_. I'll do anything, only let me live.

_The world was utterly dark. Everything looked exactly the same, whether my eyes were opened or closed. My head buzzed. It was…almost pleasant. Almost. _

I cannot die! Avo, Skorm, anyone—let me live!

_"__**And what would you be willing to do with such a life**__?"_

_ I blinked stupidly. The sound was clear and earth-shatteringly loud, unhindered by the roaring in my ears. Someone seemed to be speaking to me. With a last surge of will, I struggled to form a coherent thought._

Anything. I do not want to die. Please.

_ "__**You will live**__," the voice whispered harshly, and I felt a vague pain growing in my breast, as though sharp claws had set themselves into my cold, rapidly-numbing flesh. "__**The Void brings death, but to you, we shall grant life. A life that need never end, if you serve faithfully**__."_

Anything… _I was so tired._

_The pain was building steadily, now. I tried to wince, but my jaw would not move. No part of me would move. I could only hang there, helpless in the darkness, as the claws dug deeply into my chest, piercing bone, seeking my heart. I wanted to scream. It was agony. It was invasion. _

Get it out, get it out, GET IT OUT! TAKE IT OUT OF ME!

_"__**We shall. It is done**__."_

_ The claws withdrew. Something cold and heavy was pressed against the skin of my chest._

_ "__**This is your life, now. You will see a field in your mind. Take this to that field and place it on the ground. Then, you will return to this shore and wait. Do this, and you will never, ever fear the touch of death again.**__"_

_ I could not answer. I wanted to sleep…. Perhaps I was sleeping, already. This feeling…this cold thing on my chest…it had to be a dream._

_ A hand closed over my foot and eased it out of the net. I thought I felt a faint glow chasing the darkness away, but I could not see properly. A slender arm slipped itself around my chest and I felt the water streaming through my hair and down my body as we rose. _

_ Then…air. Its coolness stung my face, but I could not clear my throat to take a breath. _

_ A firm surface was suddenly pressing against my back. Land? I could hardly remember what gravity felt like, now. It was all so very…heavy. The cold thing on my chest was taken away, and replaced by something warmer that _pushed_, over and over. I shuddered and gagged, hot, sour seawater gushing from my mouth and running down my face, my throat_ burning…_and then I was breathing. Air, at last! It scorched my battered lungs, and I coughed weakly. My eyes fluttered open._

_ A woman looked down at me, her face very close to mine. Angela? No…this woman had dark hair and brown eyes, but she could not be human. Her skin glowed faintly…it was like moonlight…and she smiled radiantly as though I was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen._

_ "It will be all right, Adrian," she whispered in a voice that was very different from the one I had heard in the ocean. That voice had been cold and awful, though it promised salvation. This voice was gentle and warm, tender with love. "I told you we would meet again. You are safe, and so is Angela."_

_ Her soft lips brushed my brow. "Rest."_

_ Sleep took me._

* * *

I helped Angela to her feet, struggling to come to terms with the feel of her skin against mine again, after three centuries. I had gotten to her in time to keep her out of danger, and she was shaken, but undamaged. As she gazed up at me, I suppressed a shudder of self-loathing. She was just a girl…sixteen years old, purely innocent. And I was going to let her die. I might as well have let the ocean take her…but I couldn't.

"Who are you?" she asked hoarsely, squinting at my face in the dim light of the moon. "I know your face…I'd swear it…"

"Family likeness," I lied. "Your friend, Adrian, is my nephew."

Her eyes widened. "Adrian! Where is he?! We have to help him! He—"

"Shh," I interrupted as soothingly as I could, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "I've got him already. He is safe. You run along, now. Get into some dry clothes before you catch cold. Your family will be worrying about you."

"Oh, thank you, sir! Avo bless you…you saved my life…. I can't swim. I would have died if you hadn't come along." She dissolved into tears, and I held her tightly, closing my eyes against the pain of that contact.

_No_, I thought, my chest heavy with sorrow. _You died _because _I came along._

"Miss Mercer…"

She sniffled against my chest. "Y-yes, sir?"

I chewed my lip, considering. "Miss Mercer, I think perhaps you ought to leave Oakvale. Tonight."

She pulled away from me and stared. "What? Why?"

"It's Adrian. His lifestyle has put him in the bad graces of some very powerful people. They know he loves you, and they are coming to harm you, to take you from him in order to punish him. You need to leave, along with your family, the moment you reach your house. Get as far away from this place as you can, as fast as you can."

Her mouth worked soundlessly. Then her eyes narrowed. "I won't leave him. I'm sorry sir, but if Adrian is in trouble, and they cannot find me, they will hurt him in whatever other way they can. My father was a soldier, once. He can look after us."

"Not against _these_ people," I said urgently. "Please, Angela. You _must_ leave. I will see to Adrian. That is why I am here. These are _our_ problems, not yours. I swear to you, he _will_ be protected. I am taking him away immediately, and you must do the same with your family. You must have relatives or friends in another town. Go to them. Go _now_!"

Angela nodded slowly. "All right. Tell him…tell him he can find us in Brightwood. My aunt lives in a cottage there, and she can take us in for as long as…as long as this situation lasts. Thank you so much." She took my hand and squeezed it. "Please…keep him safe."

"Of course." I let her hand slip out of mine, our fingers brushing together for a moment before dropping away forever. I watched her as she left, knowing that this was the best I could do for her. I did not know if it would save her, but I knew I could not have stopped myself from trying.

"That was a wonderful thing you just did."

I turned to find Rose walking toward me across the sand. "It was a _selfish_ thing," I muttered. "And pointless. I remember her screams. I remember seeing the town burn, and hearing _all_ of the screams. But hers stood out, somehow louder than all the others, to me." I shook my head. "You will see it for yourself soon enough."

"I know," she said, taking my hand. "Adrian has the Dark Seal. The Shadows reached into your heart while you were drowning and they pulled it out. I heard their voices. They said that it was your life, now. I could not stop them. I am so sorry… I cannot fight them on their level without your help."

"I am beginning to understand that," I murmured, remembering the pain…the feeling of invasion, of having something ripped from my chest. Whatever it was, it had become the Dark Seal, their property, the key to their Court. The key to the sole remaining portal to the Void, if Rose was correct. I shivered. It did not bear thinking about. Rose and I were powerful; indeed, I was unable to imagine where her limits might lie. I recalled the man at the flower-stall, the first day I returned to Albion after she killed the Crawler. He had called her a goddess, and I had scoffed at his ignorance. But what were Heroes, if not gods among men? Where did our potential end, if we lived long enough or pushed ourselves hard enough?

_Ask Sparrow_, a bleak part of me thought. _Heroes burn out if they are not careful._

I sincerely hoped that Rose would be careful. I could not let her face whatever was to come by herself. But there was still a chance that I might sway her from this dangerous path. It would take great fortitude. I would have to bring all of my strength to bear to manipulate the woman I loved into choosing her own life over the world.

Perhaps a view of the destructive capabilities of the Shadows would open her mind. _You cannot change time, but time inevitably changes you, _she had said.

I kissed her hair. _Well, my dear…that rule applies to both of us._

* * *

Rose and I stood in the forest, near the beach where Adrian waited, having completed his errand. I could see in her eyes that she grieved deeply for both of us. She wanted to be at his side nearly as much as she wanted to stay with me. But her sense of honor and love prevented her from going to him. This moment would define me for the rest of my life, and whatever else came, she would not leave me to face it alone a second time.

As if she could hear my ruminations, she reached for my face and stroked my cheek with her fingertips, then hugged me tightly. I melted into her embrace, wrapping my arms around her and burying my face in her hair, against her neck. The Shadows would not take her from me, even if I had to drag her kicking and screaming through the doors, myself, all the way back to our Albion. I had the Paramour _and_ I had taken a second pistol from its resting place in the stable while Rose wasn't looking. I had concealed it in a hollow in the oak tree when we first made our camp at sunset. She had not spotted a thing; I was, after all, a master thief with centuries of experience. I reached into the hollow, now, and brought the gun out, pressing it into her hands.

"Since we do not know exactly what to expect," I whispered, drawing the Paramour, "and since the town is about to be swarming with Shadows, I think we ought to prepare ourselves."

She held the pistol carefully, turning it over in her hands. "You keep this," she said at last, putting it in my holster. "You may need it more than I will. I have weapons of my own."

"Rose—"

A deafening explosion shook the earth and nearly knocked us to the ground. A spike of adrenaline shot through my veins, and I grabbed the stolen pistol with my free hand and pulled the hammers of both guns back. Rose took several steps toward the beach, watching as Adrian ran, spraying sand beneath his feet as he made for the town.

_Too late_, I thought. _There is nothing but pain for you, now._

"Come," I said tersely. "This is something you need to see, my love."

We took a shortcut through the wood, emerging on the other side in time to see Adrian stumble and fall to his knees nearby. I did not waste time sparing him more than the barest glance. I knew what he was feeling. Oakvale was in flames, flames which cast large, black shadows that moved like beasts and men. The screams of the dying were beyond description. The scorched air was thick with them. Everywhere before us, buildings were groaning and collapsing, windows were being blown out by the intense heat of the fires, and people were trying to run—but they never made it far before the horde of Shadows swallowed them in darkness. The land itself, a place for the Court to exist in Albion, was not enough. They wanted human lives, as well.

One woman nearly made it to the tree line. Most of her clothing had burned away, and her smallclothes were on fire. Her back had gone up like a torch, but she continued to walk, dreamlike, toward the safety of the forest. Rose cried out softly beside me, tears streaming down her face. The woman collapsed and smoldered on the ground. She was dead.

A familiar scream pierced me as I held Rose to my chest. I gritted my teeth in anguish as I realized that it belonged to Angela. I closed my eyes to the horror in front of me, terrified that I might actually see her demise, that she might have gone up in flames like the woman whose body was still smoking nearby. I could not bear it.

"I'm sorry, Rose," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. I should not have asked you to watch this."

She did not answer. She had gone very still. I opened my eyes and saw that she was staring off into another part of the forest, her tear-streaked face filled with wonder despite the hellish devastation going on around us.

"Of _course_…" she breathed. "Of course…oh, merciful Avo…Adrian…"

I followed her gaze, and all of the strength went out of my legs. I would have fallen, but Rose caught me in her strong, slender arms and held me tightly. Three figures stood nearby, partially obscured in the forest. One of them was struggling violently, trying to run toward the inferno, while the other two held her back. She was screaming in horror and shock, and there was no mistaking her voice. Those same screams had haunted my nightmares for nearly 300 years.

It was Angela. Her mother and father were holding her as Rose held me. She was alive. She had listened to me. I had mistaken her shrieks of misery for death-screams, all this time. I sagged in Rose's arms, and she lowered me gently to the ground, kneeling beside me.

"I—I never knew… I had no hope…"

"You had hope," Rose said, pressing her damp cheek to mine, speaking directly into my ear so that I could hear her words over the screams. "You would not have tried to save her if you had not held some small amount of hope that you would succeed. You saved her, and her family."

"I sentenced this entire town to death, just so I could live…" My chest was too tight. I could barely breathe. I thought I understood the magnitude of what I had done. But this was beyond anything I had ever experienced. I was lost.

"Listen to me, Adrian." Rose's voice was sharper, now, and it jarred me back to my senses. "Look well. Was _this_ what you envisioned when you agreed to their bargain?"

I swallowed. "No…No, I couldn't…I could not have even imagined this…"

"Of course not. You were an adolescent boy. This is evil beyond comprehension. They _chose_ you, Adrian. They chose you because they knew I was coming, and also because you had the misfortune to be born a Hero."

"Misfortune?"

"Yes. Ours is a heavy burden, Adrian. We live to fight, and inevitably, we _die_. Not of old age, but as a result of our actions. We are living weapons, and the Shadows know the power of Heroic blood. If it had not been you, it would have been another one of us. Of that, I am certain. Your choice was made at the edge of a sword, and you had no way of knowing its consequences. They used you. And all of this," she said, sweeping a hand toward the flames, "was done not for them, but for _you_. What you did when you accepted their terms in the sea was not inherently evil. They had to force you to cast away your innocence and follow the path of darkness. This is how they accomplished it."

"I don't—what are you saying?"

"In order to make a spear, you must first remove the branches," Rose said urgently. "Only then is it worth sharpening. Do you understand?"

At last, I truly did. This was the reason for the sacrifice of Oakvale. My branches—my ties to the world—had been sliced roughly away, and with the twenty-year punishment, the Court had encouraged me to become more manipulative, more charming, and more treacherous in order to bring them what they wanted. I had spent _centuries_ growing sharper, becoming a more efficient slave.

As I looked from Rose to Angela and back again, watching the cruel firelight play over their beautiful, tear-stained faces, I knew that my course had finally been set. The Shadow Judges had indeed made a spear of me…and I would see them suffer greatly for it before their end.

Tonight, they had successfully engineered their deadliest enemy.


	17. Chapter 17: Certitude

**Thank you to all the reviewers-angelacm, Strikit, deathofaraven, kiltsaresexy, greyskye...and everyone who has been following (and favoriting!) this story. In this chapter, we pull all the strings together, at last. Let's uncover the essential truth of Fable, shall we? ;)**

* * *

It did not take long for Angela to stop screaming. I watched her parents gently but firmly draw her back into the forest, half-carrying her. She seemed to have lost the will to move on her own. It occurred to me that she probably thought I was dead, just as I had believed that she was. The little family disappeared into the trees, presumably making for Brightwood. I watched them go until I could no longer see them.

The acrid smell of burning flesh, hair, and wood mingled with that of scorched metal and the gunpowder that had exploded when the guardhouse went up in flames. It had not taken long for the Shadows to utterly destroy the town. As far as I could tell, everyone in Oakvale was now dead. I estimated that no more than ten minutes had passed since the slaughter began. Darkness was coagulating in the field where Adrian…where _I_ had placed the Seal. This would become the site of the Shadow Court, the portal to the Void. Beside me, Rose was watching it with the cold, calculating eyes of a military general—indeed, as Queen of Albion and Aurora, she was the commander of the largest single army in the world. She was observing the enemy, and she had no use for tears, now.

"My father was ravaged by Darkness much like this," she said quietly. "It paralyzed him and flooded his mouth, his eyes, his ears…I will never forget the sight of it, or the terrible sounds he made when he tried to cry out but found himself drowning in it. It made him into a host for the Crawler. He carried it in his body for a year before it finally took his mind…and when it did, I killed him with my own hands."

I was surprised that, after all that had happened, I could still feel a degree of shock. There was so much I still did not know about her. Beneath her soft, warm exterior was an iron will, total dedication to her cause. It reminded me of her brother in some ways. Had Logan been born a Hero, capable of fielding the threat to the kingdom, he might have been just like her.

"I will not let that happen to anyone ever again," she continued, staring into the flames. "There will be no more sacrifices. You told me when I incarcerated you that your life was in my hands. I intend to protect that life. I will not fail you. You have my word."

"This is a war, my dear, and it is certainly not my first. I am prepared for whatever may come. The one thing they can take from me now is _you_, and I will use everything they gave me to kill them before they have that chance."

"Killing them cannot be our primary aim. They would simply return to the Void and regroup. We must close the door and cut off their power at the source. We have come to the end of this stage of our journey, and there is someone waiting for us on the other side—in our time. It is nearly time to go home. I do not see the final door, yet, but I think I know what must be done in order to open it."

I followed her gaze to Adrian, who was still on his knees before the ruins of his home. I nodded grimly. "So do I. I remember."

I holstered the Paramour and held the other pistol, the one I had stolen from the stable, in my right hand. I began to walk toward Adrian, taking long, slow strides across the blackened grass. It was a decent firearm by the standards of this era. A simple flintlock, free from rust, well-oiled, properly balanced. It was the last remaining relic of Oakvale, discounting myself. Its surface held the hot glow of the firelight around me as I walked. It was not magical, or special in any way on its own, but someone had cared for it. Someone had devoted a great deal of time to making it as good as it could be…to bringing its full potential to bear.

I stopped behind the boy and dropped it onto the ground at his side. He flinched, and the barrel of the Paramour kissed his cheek before he could turn his head.

"Do exactly as I say, or you will die," I murmured. "Pick up the pistol."

He was absolutely still, as I knew he would be.

"Pick it up."

His fingers, numb with shock, fumbled weakly with the gun before I lost patience and pressed it into his hands, myself.

"The Judges lied to you when they told you that the Dark Seal was your life." I pointed to the flintlock with the Paramour. "_This_ is your life. Remember that, and you will never suffer a night like this again. In time, you will cease to feel pain, at all. It will all go away, little by little, the more you use _this_."

"Are you one of them?" he asked in a dead voice.

"No."

He paused for a long time. "Are you a friend?"

"You have no friends. You never will."

His shoulders slumped, and I continued, withdrawing the Paramour slowly. "What you _do_ have is _power_. All of your suspicions about your true nature are correct. The blood of the elite Heroes of the Old Kingdom runs through your veins. You know what you are. Now…_be_ what you are. Never let anyone take anything from you again."

When he looked around, I had already melted into the trees. He held the pistol gingerly in both hands for a moment. Then, at last, he stood. He extended his arm, sighted down the barrel of the gun, and walked into the remains of Oakvale. The fire licked at his boots in places and scorched his hair, but I knew that he did not care. He was looking for the Shadows, but they were gone. He would find only ashes, now. The world would have to bear the brunt of his pain, and in time, he would change. He would become me.

My eyesight seemed to blur as I watched him. The flickering light of the fires beyond the trees grew wider and duller, forming a reddish haze that bled into the darkness around me. I recognized a familiar shifting sensation and knew that the final door had opened. I had armed myself with all that I would need in order to survive my first year.

In order to give the tip of a spear sufficient strength for hunting, it must be hardened in fire.

I was ready.

* * *

Somewhere in the darkness, a heart was beating. It was massive; I _felt_ it more than I heard it. Rose's hand tightened painfully in mine. Her softly glowing skin was the only source of light in the room, but we were not alone.

A low voice came from directly ahead, echoing through the chamber. "Welcome back."

Slowly, the first pale ghosts of morning poured in through narrow windows high above our heads, illuminating dark stone walls and the narrow platform upon which we stood. I grimaced. A step too far in either direction, and Rose and I would have fallen to our deaths. The incongruous ways in which the walls joined were geometrically disturbing…I recognized this place immediately. The memory of it was burned into my mind. I had shot and killed Lord Lucien Fairfax in this very room 50 years ago.

"The Tattered Spire…" Rose breathed.

A figure draped in red stood before us on one of the other platforms. It was Theresa, of course. Part of me had known all along that this was her doing.

"Yes, Rose," she said. "I have guided your family from this place since before your birth. It behaves much like your world of doors, except that the focal point is my mind. I see every thread of every possible future, here, and I can discern the ones that cannot be avoided. But it is merely a way of channeling the abilities I already possessed. Because of my family's Heroic ancestry, I have always been a seer. It is a gift that has passed to you, now, through the blood of my brother, your ancestor, who became known as the Hero of Oakvale more than 500 years ago. You and I are bound by blood and fate, and I have spent centuries waiting for you. For _both_ of you."

Theresa lowered her hood. I had always imagined her to be a crone with a gaunt, withered face, but she did not look a day over forty. The long years had not touched her. Her red hair was lush with youth, but where her eyes ought to have been, the azure glow of Will shone like twin beacons in the dim light of the dawn.

"What happened to you?" Rose whispered, reaching for her.

Theresa promptly put her hands behind her back. "You have already seen enough of our family's suffering. I will not burden you with more."

"You're…you feel like _him_."

The seer smiled. "I do not doubt that. Adrian White became Reaver because he was touched by Darkness. His lifeline was interrupted, and remains frozen. The same is true of me."

I pulled Rose gently behind me, one hand resting on my pistol. I did not trust this woman. She would tell half-truths and destroy lives in order to get what she wanted—she was far too much like me, in that respect. She had put her own kin in mortal peril multiple times, and now it was clear that she was dragging Rose into something far, far worse.

"I _am_ standing right here, you know," I said with a smirk that was pure bile. "You may talk _to_ me if you must talk _about_ me. You might hold Rose in thrall with your grand speeches of fate and blood ties, but _I_ will not be fooled so easily. She has done her part for Albion. Let her alone. You took her entire family from her. You told her brother about the Darkness and turned him into a tyrant just so Rose could overthrow him, and in her search for allies, she lost her father to the Crawler. You knew it was in Aurora, and you said _nothing_. Despite all of your power, you left her mother here in the Spire to _rot for ten years_. If you care for her at all, you should tear the bloody thing down and take your grasping _fingers_ out of our lives."

"It had to be done," Theresa said calmly. "Rose spoke to you of the metaphor of the spear, did she not? She told you that the branches must be removed before it can be sharpened. That principle applies not only to you, but to her, as well. After spending ages in Samarkand, tirelessly researching, I influenced Lucien Fairfax to build the Spire. I came to him in a dream after he lost his wife and daughter. I needed it in order to make Rose strong enough to do what she alone can do: to balance and oppose _you_. This is a war, one that I have been waging for half a millennium…all for this moment. All so that Rose would exist. She is my champion, just as you were meant to be the champion of my enemy."

"I felt another force," Rose murmured. I looked at her with deep anxiety. Her face was inscrutable, despite everything. Her need to understand was overriding her emotions, shoving them aside like so much rubbish. "I felt the touch of something…Other…while you chose the doors for us. It was trying to stop us."

"And so it would have, had it not been for your strength of Will. My enemy is my equal in nearly every way. We have both worked to conquer each other for centuries, biding our time, using Heroes to prepare for the battle. The difference lies in our goals. My enemy wishes to seize this world and kill it. But if I am the victor, my enemy and I shall both perish, as we ought to have long ago, and the world will live on. Please believe me when I tell you that I understand sacrifice better even than _you_ do, Reaver. You cannot begin to comprehend what _I_ have suffered."

I opened my mouth in outrage, but Rose silenced both of us with a cutting motion. "This is no time for emotionalism. Theresa, I will fight for you, because your cause is the right one. But I must know what I am fighting. I need you to tell me everything you know. If you hold anything back, I _will_ know, and not even you can force me to leave this place, now."

Theresa smiled again. "I know. You no longer need a channel of any kind for your power. That is what I have worked for. Your body is its own power source. It regenerates constantly. You are _life _incarnate. Just as Reaver and I were made immortal by the Darkness, your life is fed by Light."

"Do you mean to say…" I felt my anger giving way to hope, though I scarcely dared to speak above a whisper. "Rose is immortal, as well?"

"That remains to be seen. For now, her extraordinary regenerative capabilities protect her from decay. But if we lose, not even she will be saved. All light and all life will end. You were given eternal life in order to grow strong enough to destroy her."

I quirked an eyebrow dubiously. "If that is the case, I am quite sure you have been making more of a fuss about this than it deserves. Whoever thought _that_ plan would work is a great fool. Rose has all three of the Heroic disciplines mastered, while I have only one."

"You are assuming that the Other believed you would be fighting a conventional battle." Theresa shook her head. "No, the Other is counting on Rose's love for you to stop her from interceding. It has already led to the destruction of Oakvale, the acquisition of a foothold in Albion for the Shadow Court, and your rebirth. The consequences go on and on from there. When she saved your life, she doomed Aurora to the Darkness that _your_ terrible actions unleashed. If her compassion continues to prevent her from making sacrifices, the Darkness will inevitably conquer all."

"There will _be no more sacrifices_," Rose said, her voice hard. "Who is the Other? How did you become what you are?"

"When I was a child, there was a being known to the world as Jack of Blades. He came from the Void to terrorize Albion. My brother destroyed him, but not before he was able to plant a seed that not even my brother could detect. Jack of Blades raided Oakvale and found me. He tore my eyes from my head, and I was left to die on the very ground that later became the site of the Shadow Court. But I survived. I found that after that, my visions became clearer. I was more powerful. I could see into other worlds, and as I lay bleeding, I looked into the Void…and the Void looked back."

She let her hands fall to her sides. "My sight was an intrinsic part of my identity. When Jack took it from me, he took part of me with it. That part exists in darkness, now, a permanent part of the Void. This dark seer rules the Shadow Court. She is the most powerful of the Judges, and neither of us can die while the other lives, because we are two halves of a whole, existing in two planes that can never touch. I cannot harm her. But you can, and you must. If you close the portal to the Void, the seat of her power, you can end this…for both of us. Albion will be closed to the Void forever."


	18. Chapter 18: Love

**Hey everyone! Thank you very much for your reviews, favorites, and follows! This is a pretty special chapter to me, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I listened to Claude Debussy's 'Clair de Lune' while I wrote it, and I think it made a very nice accompaniment, so I highly recommend giving it a listen while you read! :) Special thanks go out to angelacm, who said, "Um, YES!" when I asked if I ought to include a certain special, citrus-y scene. ;) If you like it, be sure to thank her for the encouragement! She is the one who opened my eyes to just what a love scene could be. Thanks, Anje!  
**

* * *

I asked the seer the only real question that seemed to matter, now. "Have you seen how it all ends?"

"I have seen multiple ends. That is a positive sign. It means that the outcome is truly in your hands. It also means that the Judges are as uncertain as I am. You will have an advantage when you face them."

Rose studied Theresa's face, her expression softening. "You miss him, don't you?"

"Every day."

"Who?" I asked, glancing at each of them in turn. They seemed able to communicate on a level that was beyond me, and it made me very uneasy.

"Her brother," Rose answered gently. "When she is finally free, she believes she will see him, again."

Theresa bowed her head. "Yes."

"I will do what must be done," Rose promised, taking Theresa's hands in hers. "You will look on him with your own eyes, again, Theresa. You will be made whole."

"Perhaps. Your own brother is waiting for you, now. You should go to him while you can."

Rose nodded, releasing her. They exchanged a long look, and at the end of it, Theresa smiled. I noticed with surprise that it was the very same slow smile that I dearly loved on Rose. She turned to me and her face grew serious once more.

"Fifty years ago, I asked you where you wanted to be sent, as a reward for your service. I now ask you again, Reaver. The world is open to you, as is your path. I will not interfere with your life again."

I gazed steadily into her sightless face, wondering what she saw when she looked at us through the veil of her Will.

"My name is Adrian," I said, "and I will go where _she_ goes."

"Therein lies your key to victory, and freedom. You have done well, Adrian. Farewell."

A surge of white light rolled over us, and Theresa and the Spire evaporated.

* * *

We materialized in the War Room of Bowerstone Castle, and I was deeply relieved to see the blue, gold, and white of Rose's banner colors around me. We were home at last…the question we now faced was this: how much time had gone by in our absence? What consequences might be waiting for us?

One of them was standing by the fireplace, holding a small cameo in one hand while the other made a tight fist behind his back. Rose gave me a significant glance, and I nodded, backing silently away into the hall, where he would not see me.

Logan tensed as the glow of Rose's skin caught the corner of his eye. She was a woman whose presence truly filled a room. He turned slowly to face his sister, who was now dressed much like him, in the clothes of a commoner. A soft sigh of pain escaped his lips, but he did not go to her.

"You've come back," he said guardedly. Clearly, he did not know what to expect from her, now.

"I have. How long was I gone?"

"Six days. Jasper came to me with the news of your plans. He brought me your letter. The people believe you are on Clockwork Island, assisting Dr. Faraday with his reinstatement in Bowerstone Industrial. Rose, if they knew what you have truly been doing, there would be panic in the streets instead of cheering. They want Reaver gone, but they cannot do without you."

"Logan…" she moved toward him with a profound grace that even he could not mistake for anything earthly. A muscle was working in his jaw as he watched her. "I am very sorry for leaving you as I did. I met with Theresa again, and I saw things, both incredible and terrible, that I cannot possibly explain with words. The war is not over. There is still much work to do, if Albion is to remain safe."

"And what of _your_ safety?"

"I am in good hands, I assure you," she said. "I have a powerful ally, and I have come out of this journey with far more than I had when I first stepped into it. What happened to our mother will not happen to me."

She offered him her hand. "Please. Allow me to show you. Let me put your mind at ease."

He hesitated, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his face was grave, but unafraid. "What will I see?"

"Everything. No more secrets, brother. Take my hand."

Their fingers touched. A flash of golden light filled the room for an instant, and then Logan was stumbling, gasping for breath, one hand over his face. I wondered how long I had been frozen in time, along with the rest of Albion.

"_Reaver_." Logan's voice was strained and breathless, but he seemed to be regaining his sense of calm quickly. They were both so very good at that. "I know you are watching through the gap in the doors. Come in, please."

I smirked, entering the room with my hand resting casually on my pistol. "You have changed your mind about killing me, then?" I simply could not help myself. No matter how dire the situation, my mouth had a habit of running off without my permission whenever Logan was around.

"Unfortunately for me, it appears that the fate of the world depends on your survival. That being said…" He dropped the cameo into my hand. "Take care of her. If you allow any harm to come to her—"

I put the little bauble in my pocket and rolled my eyes. "Yes, yes, yes, if I break her _heart_, you will break my _legs_, and so on. Well. You will _try_, anyway. Really, I ought to be breaking _yours_ for what you've done to her, but considering the fact that I tried to murder her in my mansion last year…I believe we are at an impasse."

"Do not take my brother so lightly, Adrian," Rose said, smiling fondly at both of us. "His blood is Heroic, just as mine is. You would find him to be a formidable enemy…or a great ally."

"I am no Hero," Logan said firmly. He gazed down at the raised-relief map of Albion in the center of the room and ran his fingers over the rough contours of Mistpeak. "That much has been proven."

His sister regarded him with such knowing warmth that I felt a brief flare of jealousy, just as I had in the Spire when she and Theresa had shared their silent communication. The children of William Black were bound by the rarest bloodline in the world. It placed even Logan in a realm that I could not fully reach, because my surname was White, and that name was given to me by Briar Rose, Albion's first gunslinger, rather than a Rose without thorns who had died an innocent.

"You know better," she whispered, kissing his cheek. He closed his eyes and remained as rigid as ever, his knuckles growing pale as they gripped the edge of the map table. Something enormous had taken place between them while Albion was held by her spell, and it seemed to have left him deeply unsettled, but disinclined to argue with her. That, I could understand. At this point, even _I _was disinclined to argue with Queen Rose of Albion, and I was inclined to argue for the sake of argument much of the time, simply to enjoy the sound of my own voice. Now, however, I could find nothing to say. After all that had happened, I could think of one thing that Logan and I had in common: we were being left behind as the woman we loved grew into something beyond our comprehension.

As if he could hear my thoughts, Logan looked up at me. He stood up straight again and came to stand directly in front of me. His dark eyes, so very like his sister's, held mine for a long moment. "Adrian White," he said slowly, testing the name on his tongue as though it were something utterly foreign. "The Queen will not allow me to fight beside her. I sincerely hope that you are the man my sister believes you to be."

"So do I," I murmured.

He nodded, and then without ceremony, he turned and left the War Room, closing the doors behind him. Without his presence as a buffer, I felt the first stirrings of the emotions I had been smothering since our return to the castle. Now that there was no one to taunt, I could not distract myself. I felt myself trying desperately to return to the protective veneer of _Reaver_, but it simply was not working. I was Adrian, again, and it seemed that I would remain Adrian for some time, yet.

"Would you like to be Reaver, again?"

I looked up sharply. Rose was sitting on a couch in the corner, her hands folded in her lap.

"You can read minds, now?" I asked, half-laughing despite my chagrin. Where would it stop?

"No. But I can read body language. Especially yours." She stood and walked to me, brushing a few strands of my lank hair out of my face. I was an absolute mess. My clothes were still splattered with marsh mud. "Coming to terms with what you have learned will take time, and adjusting to a new identity will not be easy. Believe me, I know. This room is where it all began, for me. I was just a girl—a princess, but still a girl, all the same. I had no real concept of responsibility until my brother forced me to decide between the life of my only friend and the lives of the people we were sworn to protect. That choice was a defining moment for me, but since then, I have continued to experience defining moments. So will you. We never cease to grow, Adrian, so long as we are alive."

I wrapped my arms around her and crushed her to me as though I could somehow make our bodies meld together. "Let me fight them alone, Rose," I said at last. I needed her to stay here. There was no telling what would happen to her in a brush with the Void. Every obstacle she conquered seemed to make her less and less…human. "Stay with your brother. He needs you. Your people need you."

"That was always the plan, I think," she answered against my neck. "It is what Theresa wants. But it is not what _I_ want. I told you both: no more sacrifices. Theresa made me what I am for a very specific purpose, but in doing so, she gave me a power greater than her own. It falls to me to decide what to do with it, and Adrian, I _have_ decided." She pulled back and smiled at me, her eyes shining. "Are you going to try to stop me?"

I laughed, though my chest ached. "We both know I can't. You are the most tenacious woman in Albion."

"You know, I think that honor might go to Page, actually."

"_Page_," I said disdainfully. "Page has no concept of self-sacrifice. She thinks living in a _sewer_ makes her a proper martyr for her cause. You, on the other hand, are about to dive into the darkest place in the world—_again_."

"Not just yet." She planted a soft kiss in the hollow between my jaw and my ear. I felt my pulse jump at her touch. "You don't really want to save the world looking like _that_, do you? Come with me."

Taking a handful of my shirt, Rose opened the doors and pulled me along after her, through the hall, and up the stairs into her bedroom. An enormous tub of water sat steaming in the center of the room. Laid out on a long table beside it were a set of clothes for each of us, a sword, and two identical pistols. They were Dragonstompers.

"How did you—?"

"Jasper. While you were frozen, I informed him of our arrival, and he was positively appalled by my appearance. He very politely suggested a wash, and I agreed. I asked him to bring our weapons, but he took it upon himself to set out clothes, as well. He has fine taste. I'm sure you will approve."

"Where did you get the other Dragonstomper?" I could not help asking. "I've had five of the six for years, but I could never find the last one."

"Of course not. I had it. So, congratulations—you now have the full set."

"You're giving it to me?"

"Absolutely not," she laughed. "It's a fantastic weapon, and I intend to use it. Besides, I seem to recall giving you a gun, already."

I sighed deeply and raked my fingers through my hair. "All right, _ma belle_…I give up. I am _utterly_ confused."

"I cannot give it to you, because it is yours already," she said patiently, untying my cravat and unbuttoning my filthy waistcoat and shirt. She had improved with practice. "All that I have is yours, if you want it. You told yourself you would never have a friend, and that your pistol was all you could ever truly count on. I am telling you, now and forever, that that is not so."

My mouth went dry as her fingertips grazed my bare chest. Her eyes were locked on mine, allowing the gravity of her statement to sink in. I took her hand in both of mine and kneaded her palm with my thumbs, running my lips over her knuckles. For a moment, I could only focus on breathing. My head was spinning. I closed my eyes to steady myself, and it helped.

I heard the whisper of a ribbon being tugged, and the simple bodice of her dress fell away. With the hand I was not holding, she pushed her skirt and smallclothes down to her narrow ankles and stepped out of them, brushing her naked body against me. The soft firmness of her full breasts against my skin sent a heady shudder of need through my body and weakened my legs. My heart began to beat faster. Her free hand unfastened my breeches and I let out a breath I had not even realized I was holding. I opened my eyes, watching her undress me in the mirror over her vanity table. It was somehow easier than looking at her directly. She moved with great care, gently peeling the mud-hardened layers of clothing from my skin. My hair was a disaster, matted with dirt and very nearly standing on end in some places. I looked as though I had been tied to a horse and dragged through half of Mourningwood. I _felt_ that way, as well.

"Come here," she murmured, smiling, guiding me into the bath. The hot water immediately soothed my aches, and I sat down slowly, luxuriating in its enveloping warmth. Some sort of sweet fragrance had been added to the water. After a moment, I recognized it. It was rosewater, with a hint of night-blooming jasmine.

Rose eased herself into the water across from me, picked up a soft cloth, and dipped it into the bath. She wrung it out and dabbed gently at the dirt on the inside of my forearm, where mud had been shoved up my sleeve when I dove at the banshee and plunged headfirst into the marsh. The way she touched me was almost chaste, and yet it was somehow the most intimate thing I had ever experienced in my life. It was certainly not the first bath I had shared with someone else—or even _several_ someones, for that matter—but this was something that went far beyond my worldly knowledge.

She was absorbed in her task, and I could not keep my eyes off of her. I slouched forward like a drunkard, my damp hair hanging in my face, watching beads of water fall from the cloth to slide over her beautiful wrist and down her slender arm. As she meticulously cleaned each section of skin, she worked the knots from my muscles with her fingers and thumbs before moving on. My eyelids grew heavy. After a few minutes, she turned my body so that my back was to her and let my head rest against her chest. She rubbed a cleansing tonic between her hands and gently massaged my scalp. Her strong legs gripped my hips, preventing me from sliding down further into the water, and I allowed myself to relax completely. I breathed deeply, closing my eyes with a soft sigh of pleasure while she washed my hair. No one had ever washed my hair for me, before. I did not generally _allow_ others to _touch_ my hair.

Rose's skillful fingers combined with the heat of the water to send me into a nearly hypnotic state. I gazed up at the mirror and saw pure, unbridled love in her eyes as she washed all of the traces of Wraithmarsh away from me. This was peace. This was bliss. This was everything I'd ever wanted, without even knowing I had wanted it. With one hand on my back and the other supporting the base of my skull, she let me slide down into the water, keeping my face above the surface while she rinsed the cleanser from my hair and body. Streams of scented water ran down my back and chest as she lifted me up again and kneaded the bunched muscles in my neck and shoulders. I hadn't even really known they were sore until she touched them. I moaned quietly, leaning into her. My hands found her thighs, and I massaged them gently. She made a soft, delighted sound. Her cool breath tickled my neck. I slid my hands higher, feeling new energy flowing through my veins, now. In so many ways, I felt…_clean_.

I turned around and placed my hands on her waist, lifting her into my lap carefully so as not to spill water onto the floor. I braced my feet against the other end of the tub, supporting her back with my knees. Picking the washcloth up, I rewet it and slowly washed her body—admittedly soaping her breasts quite a bit more than was probably necessary. I pulled her against my chest, reaching around her to clean her back for her. The contented fog in my mind was beginning to dissipate, now, and my heart pounded beside hers. She turned her head and kissed my neck while I ran the washcloth over the space between her shoulder blades. I moved upward, cupping the back of her neck with the cloth. I squeezed the fabric and water spilled over her shoulders and down her chest. As the droplets hit my skin, I very suddenly came undone.

My mouth took hers with a groan of desperation, hot and insatiable. I plunged my hands into her wet hair and pulled her so tightly against me that for a moment, I feared that she would not be able to breathe. But that moment was short-lived. She caressed my face and kissed me passionately, gripping my waist with her thighs. We were both panting heavily, unable to touch or kiss enough of each other. Our bodies slid together in the warm water, sloshing a large amount of it over the sides as we moved, our hands and lips seeking every inch of exposed skin at once.

"_Good Avo, Rose_," I whispered harshly. My fingers were biting deeply into her hips with the strength of my need. "I want you."

She was too lost in her own desire to speak. Her eyes spoke for her, and so did her body. She wrapped her legs tightly around my hips, and I slipped an arm beneath her and stood up. Bathwater cascaded down our bodies, splashing over our discarded clothes. Rose was unbelievably light for her height, and I carried her effortlessly, but we never made it to the bed. I could notwait any longer. I pressed her against the wall, leaning into her with all of my weight as I reclaimed her lips. Her legs tightened around me in response, and she reached down to guide me to her entrance. My breath caught in my chest at her touch and I felt my hips buck toward her before I quite knew what I was doing.

She broke our kiss to gasp as I entered her without restraint, burying myself to the hilt. I glanced apologetically into her eyes, afraid that I had hurt her, but she shifted her weight in my hands and tried to pull me closer, deeper, though there was nowhere left to go. I let out a burst of breath and thrust into her again and again, losing myself in the feel of her hot, steaming skin against mine, the taste of her mouth, and the sound of her ragged breathing.

She soon began to shudder violently, and she arched her back against the wall. I felt her tightening around me, and I bit my lip against the overwhelming surge of pleasure her lengthy climax gave me. She moaned my name—my _real_ name—into my neck as her hips socked against mine. Water dripped from my wet hair, cooler now as it made its way down my back. I tossed my head to keep it out of my eyes and struggled to catch my breath. After a moment, I ground against her again, and within less than a minute, she was coming again, even harder than the first time.

"I love you," she gasped when she found her voice at last. "I love you so much."

"_Ah_, Rose, I do not mean to sound _cliché_," I panted, driving myself as deeply into her as I could. It was never enough. I wanted to sink into her until we were a single entity. "I do so _hate clichés._"I punctuated each word with a firm thrust. My hands were growing slick against her skin. "But believe me…you have _no_ idea what you have unleashed, here." I threw my head back, sighing with pleasure. "And I will _always_ love you."

We made love for over an hour before I finally lost control. By that time, we had actually made it to her bed, and with several low, breathy cries of exertion and agonized rapture, I emptied myself inside her. She wrapped her arms around me as I shuddered. My entire body was over-sensitized. Every nerve ending seemed to throb in the wake of my release. Our bodies were shining with sweat, and as her hand trailed over my stomach, I let out another small groan at the powerful sensations it evoked. I rolled onto my side, pulling her with me, not wanting to withdraw from her warm center just yet. I liked being part of her. I needed it.

"Rose," I said breathlessly. "When this is all over…when we have won…you _do_ know that I will not be able to leave your side—_ever_—do you not?"

"I will never _ask_ you to leave my side. In fact, I forbid it," she chuckled softly. The movement where we were joined sent shockwaves of pleasure rocketing through my body, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to breathe properly. My heart was racing in my chest.

I opened them again and stroked her face, holding her gaze firmly. "Then marry me, Rose."

* * *

From the Diary of Logan:

(Recorded in Bowerstone Castle)

_I have lost my resolve. I promised myself that I would not return to the castle, that I would leave my sister and her people in peace. Now I have broken that promise, and I cannot find it in myself to leave again until this new threat has passed—until I know that she is safe. Today, Rose showed me everything. She used a variation of our mother's spell to stop time for the entire world and gave us a single day together. I could not have been more surprised when she placed an ancient music box in my hands and asked me to turn the key. I recognized it as the artifact that changed our mother's life—moreover, I knew that Rose had given it to Sabine, the leader of the Dwellers, whom I very nearly doomed to extinction during my brief, disastrous reign. He must have given it back to her. I turned the key, and when it opened, my eyes opened with it. I saw everything she had done, and all that she hopes to achieve. I watched Reaver's life unfold, as she had, and felt her love for him. I heard her sing the song of Wraithmarsh after being tormented by banshees and realized that one of them bore the face of a man whom _I _had consigned to the grave. I saw the depth of her scars, many of which I carved into her, myself. The rest were Theresa's doing, and though I now understand why it was done, I will never forgive her for ruining Rose's life, or mine. But Rose has forgiven her, already. Rose believes in Theresa's cause with absolute certitude. She believes in Reaver's goodness, and mine, with the same force. My sister is an extraordinary woman. I know now that I will never be able to truly stand beside her. Theresa chose to awaken her blood over mine, not simply because the experience of deposing me would make her stronger, but because her nature made her superior to me by default. Would I have had the selflessness to forgive Theresa for all that she has done and fight for her, knowing that I was always meant to be her weapon? I think not. I have bled for Albion, but I can do so no longer. I cannot love the world as my sister does. It has taken nearly everything from me, and now it threatens to take her. That is something I cannot endure, yet I am absolutely powerless to help her. Only Reaver can do that, now. I am forced to place my trust in him, though he is the last man in Albion I would have chosen for this. Avo help him if he fails her. Avo help _all_ of us if he fails her. _

_Rose has insisted that I keep the music box. She said that I would need it, one day, and that when that day comes, I will know how to use it. I am apprehensive. This is the artifact that cost our aunt her life. Her innate goodness was not enough to save her from it, and what goodness I once had has long been lost. I cannot help but to believe that this box holds nothing but death for a man like me._


	19. Chapter 19: Warriors

**If anyone is interested, I've started drawing art for this story (and soon, for others) and posting it to deviantART. For pictures of Rose and Reaver, you can go to the link in my profile, as it won't seem to let me post it here.  
**

**I'm sorry this chapter took a little longer than the others! For some reason, I had a bit of writer's block. Drawing the characters seemed to help. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Rose's dark eyes were deeply serious as she studied my face. "Are you certain that this is what you want? You will be bound to one identity for the rest of your life—or at least, the rest of mine."

"I already am." It was true. There was no going back, now. I was not _asking_ for her hand. I was insisting on _taking_ it, for my own sanity.

"Assuming that we survive long enough to marry, you will also have to suffer the burden of responsibility for the people. Many of them will not know how to come to terms with your new role in Albion. They've been wronged. They will not be quick to forgive."

"I am more than accustomed to being reviled, you know," I reminded her. "The more I am hated, the stronger I become. I really do not care a jot about what the people think. What matters to me is what _you_ think."

She allowed herself a grin. "I think you've known my feelings about this for quite some time. I never wanted to burden you with the yoke of royalty—believe me, it is not at all what it is cracked up to be. But there is no other man in the world for me. We were made to counteract each other, and you know I cannot resist the poetry of a union between enemies." She sighed contentedly and kissed me. "I love you, Adrian White, and I am honored to accept your proposal. It should give us something to look forward to while we fight for our lives, don't you think?"

"I can think of _several _things to look forward to," I said deviously, gently biting her neck, "one of them being poor Logan's face when you tell him he will have _me_ for a brother."

"Whatever makes you think _I_ am going to be the one to tell him?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief despite her solemn tone. "It is only proper that you ask for his blessing. He _is_ all that remains of my family, and he is the eldest. It will fall to him to give me away."

"You are too generous, my dear." I could not help relishing the idea of yet another conflict with him. I _so_ enjoyed his threats and scowls. It occurred to me that I was actually growing rather fond of him. How curious. Perhaps it was because I was beginning to notice the subtle similarities between this extraordinary woman and her half-brother, who probably loved her every bit as much as I did, in his own rigid fashion. It would probably be rather good for him to spend quality time with me. He was sure to _hate_ that. By default, that made it an even more attractive idea to me.

Rose and I bathed again and dressed. As I took in the outfit she had chosen to wear, I laughed long and hard.

"Yes?" she asked politely, picking up her sword. When her hand closed over it, a shower of sparks fell from its hilt, electricity crackling along its elaborate blade.

"You _do_ like fighting in gowns!" I guffawed, completely unable to help myself.

"I do, indeed," she said, strapping the glowing sword to her back. She wore white, as always. Two long slits ran along the skirt, and she reached into one of them to slip her Dragonstomper into its holster against her thigh. "It is impractical, and that is very useful to me. Imagine how many mercenaries perished because they dropped their guard? Walter once told me that a true warrior never shows the world all that he is capable of, and I have never deviated from that adage."

"I rather prefer my enemies to know _exactly_ what I am capable of," I said. "It tends to deter them from trying my patience in the first place."

"Sometimes a mystery is the most powerful weapon in your arsenal. Demoralize, then conquer. Logan taught me that."

"It doesn't seem to have worked terribly well for him, though, does it? Here _you_ are, after all."

"It works very well in _physical_ combat. Morality aside, you cannot conquer your own people and expect to keep them. The trick is this: know where and when to apply the arts of war, and you cannot lose. Now, with that in mind, I made some preparations before we left, and Jasper is informing me that everything is ready."

I arched an eyebrow, fitting a second holster to my body and sliding my Dragonstomper into it. The Paramour gleamed at my other side. Dual pistols…I rather liked the idea. "How is that, exactly?"

"The Guild Seal. It allows him to communicate with me at all times." She paused, smirking at the expression on my face. "And _no_, he is not a voyeur. He respects my privacy. Put that thought out of your mind, at once. We have guests to greet, after all."

I shrugged my coat over my shoulders and followed her out of the bedroom. I could not help noticing how many of my own clothes were white, now that I had seen how entirely devoted Rose was to that color. I had never realized it before, but we had always matched. I thought back to the first time I had seen her as a woman, fighting for my amusement in my mansion in Millfields. Her ball gown had been white, with black accents. Her mask had been black, too, like mine. We had worn each other's favors ever since, without even knowing it, as we fought each other at court for what we each thought of as prosperity for our home.

We reached the door to the Throne Room. She turned and smiled at me. "How do you feel about reunions?"

"Not entirely sanguine," I sighed, wondering who might be behind those doors, and whether or not I would have to shoot them. "Although, depending on how you choose to define that word, _sanguine_ describes a fair few of my reunions very well."

"Fair enough."

She pushed the doors open and walked into the room. Two figures—one large and broad, the other slight and dark—stood together, and when I realized who they were, my jaw very nearly dropped before I could catch myself. Hammer and Garth. They were old—especially Garth—but they were very much _alive_.

"Thank you very much for coming," Rose said graciously, extending a hand to each of them in turn. "I am Rose. I don't think you need me to introduce our mutual friend."

"_Friend_?" Hammer laughed, tossing her enormous head. She still wore her hair the same way—in a tangle of dreadlocks pulled away from her face—though it was now a tawny sort of silver instead of auburn. She had never been much of a fashionista, which was a lucky thing indeed, because it was probably troublesome simply to find clothes large enough to contain her bulk. "Oh yeah, he's a friend, all right. Tried to cut and run on us, what was it, four times?"

"At _least_," Garth supplied. His deep, smooth voice had not weakened with age, though by now he must have been over a hundred years old. A stiff wind ought to have been enough to knock him down for good. But somehow, he looked nearly as strong as he had fifty years ago. Unlike Rose's, the proof of his Will never hid itself. It arced over his dark skin like blue lightning, neither fading nor intensifying in response to his actions. It was simply there, always. Perhaps that was the secret of his longevity.

"_Garth_," I said cheerfully, ignoring Hammer completely. It was so easy to fall back into my old role, now that they were here. "What a lovely surprise! I thought I killed you in Samarkand."

"Your mistake was that you didn't stay to _bury_ me," he replied evenly. His eyes roved over Rose, no doubt taking in her stature, the glow of her skin, and, unless he was a complete _eunuch_, her lovelier feminine attributes. "Queen Rose, this is truly a privilege. You were only an infant the last time I saw you. I'm sorry that I did not return sooner. You look…" Here he paused for a moment, and Rose's head inclined a fraction of an inch, giving him permission. The corners of his mouth twitched. "You look so much like your father."

"Your eyes must be bad, old man," Hammer said, squinting at Rose, who was sharing a knowing smile with Garth. "She looks like _Sparrow_, not Liam. Her _brother_ looks like Liam. He's the spitting image of the man."

That seemed to catch Rose's attention. "You've seen Logan? Today?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, just for a minute. He didn't exactly stay and chat. Doesn't seem the type, to be honest."

I caught a flash of consternation on Rose's face before she buried it beneath an ironic smile. "You are quite correct," she said. "Logan prefers to let his actions speak for him."

"Don't see much of that these days," Hammer sighed. "I mean, don't get me wrong, your mum was the best friend I ever had, and when I heard she'd become a Queen, I was thrilled for her. But, blimey…Albion's changed so much since I was last here. I spent so long in the North with the warrior monks, and when I came back, there was all this…"

"Your age is showing, Hammer," Garth said, "and neither of us is getting any younger. Let Queen Rose tell us what she needs from us."

The large woman grinned sheepishly. "Oh, right. Sorry. Go ahead, Your Majesty."

Rose gave her a small smile and put her hands behind her back. Though her expression was serene, her anxiety was obvious to me. The fingers of one hand pinched and squeezed the flesh of the other.

"Reaver and I intend to destroy the Shadow Court in Wraithmarsh," she said at length. "If we are successful, it will leave the Tattered Spire…vacant. I think we can all agree that such a thing should not be left unattended. If it were up to me to decide, I would have it destroyed. But it is not entirely my choice. Each of you has felt its power. You know it better than I do. So, while Reaver and I go to do what we must do, I ask you to think about this, and give me your answers when we return. If we do not return, there will be nothing to discuss."

"Have you considered all of the consequences of what you are about to do?" Garth asked, staring incredulously at me. "We all know what the Shadow Court means to you."

I laughed hollowly. "Ah, forgive me, but _no_, you do _not_."

"It gives you eternal life so long as you chuck people into it now and then," Hammer said. "I can't imagine what made you decide to do this. It's probably going to kill you, isn't it, Reaver? Not that that's really a problem for me. But if you two think you're going in there alone, you're daft."

Rose shook her head. "I cannot allow you to come with us. I need you here, Hammer. A man named Ernest Faraday will come to the castle today to speak with you. Will you meet with him?"

"You're leaving _today_?" Hammer demanded.

"They say there's no time like the present," Rose replied, smiling at me. I rolled my eyes at the private joke and resisted the urge to give her bottom a squeeze.

Garth studied us carefully, his arms crossed over his chest. From what I remembered about him, there wasn't much that escaped his notice. He was an insufferable know-it-all, and I _thought_ I had killed him for that.

Hammer put her hands on her hips and frowned. "Look, Your Majesty, I know you're the Queen of Albion and all, but _I_ don't live in Albion. What you are to _me_ is my best friend's only daughter, and I'm not letting you run off alone. For Avo's sake, even _Sparrow_ had more meat on her bones than you do. And when Sparrow went off with _this_ bloke," she said venomously, jerking her head in my direction, "she came back looking as old as the hills."

That was just about _enough_.

"Exactly how much use do you suppose you would be in a fracas, hmm?" I asked. "What are you, seventy years old, now? Can you even _lift_ a warhammer?"

"Why don't you come over here and find out," she spat. "You have no idea how many nights I've dreamed of breaking your bones for what you did to her. You took away the only person I ever cared about after my father was killed."

She was pushing me. She ought to have known better than to try my patience, but it had been a long time, after all. "I think perhaps your anger is misdirected," I said. "But dear, departed Liam is beyond your revenge, now, so I suppose it is only logical that you should vent your anger on me, instead. But it will do you no good. _I_ did not stand in your way; Liam did. _I_ am a progressive. I would have shared her, had she been mine to share. Even with you, _rude_ though you are."

That shut her up. She flushed and shot a mortified glance at Rose, who was looking at me with deep disappointment. I shrugged. It had been worth it.

"Hammer." Garth put a restraining hand on the big woman's shoulder. "Let it go." He turned to Rose. "You know as well as I do that Heroes naturally have a longer lifespan than ordinary people—if they are not killed in battle, or by…other means." His eyes drifted toward me for a moment. "We have grown old, but we are still strong. As you said, we have seen the Spire for ourselves. I can't pretend to know what it has to do with the Shadow Court, but whatever the case, you will have a better chance of success in your task if you take us with you. Knowledge is power, and there is no one who knows the Old Kingdom like I do."

"That is precisely why you must stay," Rose said firmly. "Forgive me."

She took my hand and raised her other arm, and I smirked.

Garth's eyes widened, and he lifted his own arms, but Rose was faster. The deep toll of her spell throbbed in my chest as a ring of golden light surrounded us. Garth and Hammer, along with the rest of the world, were frozen in place.

"You know, my dear," I said, examining the look of shock on the old warlock's face. "You really could be an efficient tyrant, if you wanted to be. This spell feels rather like a cheat sometimes."

"It is," she replied grimly. "But I once heard a young man say that everything is fair if you don't get caught. Shall we go?"

I nodded, chastened by the pain in her eyes. This had been difficult for her. "Rose, you did what you had to do. They would not listen to reason."

"How many times, I wonder," she asked, "has Theresa had to tell herself that?"

"You are not Theresa," I said, gripping her shoulders tightly.

"No," she agreed. "But if I am not very careful, I might become her."


	20. Chapter 20: Mastery

**Special thanks to Angela, Alexa, and Raven for their encouragement. :) Please review, friends, the climax is coming soon!**

* * *

For a moment, I was blind. The brightness of a transportation spell turned the world white for several seconds, and then I felt Rose's hand tighten over mine, steadying me as our feet hit black and white checked stone. We were standing in a circular room with several doors set into the walls. A raised-relief map sat in the center, identical to the one in the castle, and beside it stood a man. He was thin and rather small, clearly ancient. But his posture was erect, his clothing immaculate, his snowy hair smoothly tied back with a silk ribbon. He bowed deeply, managing more courtly elegance than any pampered nobleman I had ever laid eyes on. Clearly, it came naturally to him.

"Madam," he said, "I have prepared everything as you requested."

"Jasper…" To my intense surprise, Rose ran into his spindly arms, dropping all of her Queenly bearing like so much baggage. She bent and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder. "I've asked so much of you. Thank you for your trust."

Jasper stroked her hair with a gloved hand. His powdery skin crinkled around his eyes as he smiled sadly. "It has been a privilege to serve you, madam. It has _always_ been a privilege. All that I ask…is that you come back safely."

They released each other, exchanging a look that spoke volumes about their importance to each other. Rose beckoned to me.

"As you have probably gathered, this is my Sanctuary."

Whatever Jasper thought of me, he kept to himself. He bowed—not as deeply as he had bowed to Rose—and nodded. "Good day, sir. I hope you found your attire to your liking. I cleaned and oiled your Dragonstomper .48 and ensured that its sights were properly aligned. If there is anything else you require, please do not hesitate to ask."

His efficiency astonished me. The perquisites of royalty were staggering, indeed. "Thank you," I said. "You have been most helpful—and evidently in ways I do not even know about, yet. I would very much like to, by the way. I have no love for going into combat blindly."

"My interest is in the preservation of your lives, sir. I will answer any questions you have to the best of my ability, but, if I may say so, Queen Rose knows a good deal more than I do. I am simply carrying out her instructions."

"Rose," I said quietly, turning to face her. A great heaviness had settled over me. This conversation could not be put off any longer. "Your valet makes a fair point. I know enough by now to trust you, my dear. You clearly know what you're doing. But as Hammer so eloquently pointed out, the Shadow Court _is_ the source of my life. I am committed to this battle. I truly am. But we must both prepare ourselves for the very real possibility that I, at the very least, will not survive to make good on my proposal to you."

I wanted Jasper to hear this. Someone had to know…someone needed to know that I had asked her, and that she had accepted. Someone had to know that she was mine, even if my life was not.

"They are not the source of your life," she replied. "They were, once, but you have diverged from the path they set for you." She placed her hand over my heart, beaming. "Do you remember when I told you about the importance of names, when this first began?"

"You said that there is power in a name," I said slowly, recalling that bizarre conversation. "I thought it was a lot of nonsense, frankly. I was humoring you in an attempt to bed you."

"I know." Her eyes sparkled with affection. Jasper busied himself with a cloth and dusted the glass frame of a contract on the wall. We all had our ways of coping with discomfort, and I supposed this was his. "But you are starting to believe me, aren't you? You see all that you have accomplished since you allowed yourself to be Adrian, again, do you not?"

I chuckled uneasily. "Well, I have entered into an engagement with a Queen—and, boor that I am, I did not even give you a ring! That is no small feat, I suppose."

"That is only one effect. The true feat is more difficult to define. It will save your life. I would not go through with this if I were not absolutely certain." She swept a hand around us, at the contracts that lined the walls. "These are promises I made before I took the Throne. I kept all of them, despite the danger, despite all pressure to the contrary. I made a promise to you, as well, and I intend to keep it. There will be no more sacrifices."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Jasper slip into one of the other rooms, closing the door discreetly behind him. It was true—he was no voyeur. I wasted no time. I pulled Rose against me, my hands sliding over the smooth, thin fabric of her dress while I kissed her furiously. I was like a drowning man. I wanted to believe her, but part of me simply could not. She was so young. She had never seen the Judges with her own eyes. But I could not stop her from going, and my only recourse was to go with her. They had once told me that they would come for me one day, anyway. Why not today? Better to face them on my own terms than to wait like a coward for them to take me unawares. I hiked her skirt up over her hips, accidentally brushing her holstered pistol with my fingers on the way. It only increased my desperation. It was a cold reminder of the bloody work ahead.

"No, Adrian." Rose untangled herself from me, pulling her dress back down. There was a self-assured light in her eyes. "Not like this. Not like it is the last chance you are ever going to have. It isn't."

I sighed with frustrated futility. Jasper reemerged almost instantly, bearing a leather satchel and a gleaming steel cutlass. He gave the satchel to Rose with a gentle nod and turned to me.

"I've taken the liberty of acquiring this for you, sir. Your reputation led me to believe you might be…familiar with this sort of weapon." His eyes glinted with a faint trace of humor. "If you will permit me, I shall provide you with the appropriate fittings."

I was beginning to like the old man. I nodded and allowed him to strap the cutlass to my back. It seemed a bit much, really—two legendary guns and a sword—but it was clear that he was taking no chances with Rose's safety. I could hardly fault him for that.

Rose was inspecting the contents of the satchel. She closed it before I could get a look at what was inside, but I could not help but notice the way Jasper had winced when she had put her hand in it. She slipped the strap over her shoulder and bent over the map. She tapped a blank stretch of land in the Southwest, below a little island labeled _Driftwood_ and above a larger one called _Ravenscar Keep_.

"This should be it," she said. "This map is interactive. My mother invented it, and it responds to her bloodline in a truly remarkable way. When I choose to go somewhere, it transports me there with the same technology used in Cullis Gates. But with this, there is no need for a Gate on the other side. It updates itself based on my knowledge of the world. When you evicted the people in the Gypsy Camp, for example, and I founded a new colony for them, and knew that they had decided to call it Driftwood, that name affixed itself to this map."

I was rather taken aback. Her tone held absolutely no evidence of displeasure with me for what I had done to the gypsies—and on the very site of her mother's childhood home. She was simply stating facts in an attempt to explain the mechanism before us. In this moment, as in so many others, her logical mind was completely divorced from her emotional mind. I had no earthly idea how she managed it. It was almost inhuman.

"Can you show me where we need to go?" she asked.

Jasper stood nearby, his hands clasped, awaiting orders. Only his eyes betrayed his feelings. He glanced at me. _Bring her back_, his eyes seemed to say. I nodded firmly, and he nodded back.

"Here," I said, pointing to a spot on the edge of the sea. "That was Oakvale. The marsh that engulfs it is very large. It surrounds Bloodstone on three sides. This map will allow us to avoid all of that?"

"In theory…" She knit her brow for a moment, peering at the spot. "I cannot travel to a place I have not already discovered, but I have technically been there, in your past. The knowledge should be useable."

She held her hand over the map and closed her eyes. Words began to etch themselves into the map, and the terrain shifted and rose as though something on the other side of it was trying to push through.

"Rose…" I put one hand on each pistol. "Is this normal?"

She shuddered and withdrew her hand. "_Incredible_," she whispered, rubbing her eyes. "They know. They felt the link establish itself. We need to go, _now_, or they will use it to invade this Sanctuary."

"How?" I demanded.

"If the Dark Seer is indeed a part of Theresa, then she is a Hero. Anyone with Heroic blood can travel to this place if they have a connection to it. And that connection is you. We must leave at once, or Jasper will be at risk. Take my hand, Adrian, but be prepared to go in shooting. I'm afraid I've given us away. The element of surprise is no longer ours."

The map was beginning to bubble and churn, deforming the areas around Oakvale. Five points rose slowly from it, like clawed fingers. I pulled out the Paramour and grabbed Rose's hand. The moment I touched her skin, we were gone.

* * *

The overwhelming stench of decay told me that we had found our mark perfectly. Here, beside the ruins of the great well, the smell of death was at its strongest. The Shadow Court was a tomb _made_ of tombs. We stood in the mud just outside the ancient doors.

Rose dropped my hand and put her back to mine, summoning her Will. I scanned the area around us, pistols at the ready—but there was nothing there. There was only fog, reeds, and muck.

"Hmm. It appears they would like us to come _inside_ to be murdered, darling. Perhaps your little trick with the wisps has left them no alternative."

Rose nodded. She reached into the bag at her side and gingerly removed a large black disc. I snatched it out of her hands immediately, horrified. It was my Dark Seal.

"How did you get this? You must _not_, under any circumstances, touch it again, Rose!"

"One of us must open the door," she said, undaunted.

"It certainly will not be _you_. Avo above, woman, do you have _any_ sense, at all? They will suck the life from whoever bears the Seal. You know that." The fact that her bare skin had touched the bloody thing made my skin crawl. Gingerly, I fitted it to the depression in the door, careful not to cut myself on its sharp edges. It settled into its place and the ground shuddered as the doors yawned open, revealing the darkness within.

Rose studied it for a moment, then nodded with satisfaction. "I _knew_ it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"This is not your Dark Seal," she explained, prizing it from the door and putting it back into her bag. "It's mine."

For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. My mouth had gone dry. I swallowed, put my hands on her arms, and whispered harshly, "You _corrupted your Guild Seal_?"

"No. I would never do that."

"Do not treat me like a fool, Rose. _Look_ at it!" I shouted furiously. "It's identical to mine and it opened the bloody door!"

She sighed, making no effort to pull away from me, though my fingers were biting deeply into her flesh. It was as if she did not even feel them. I wanted to shake her, but the look in her dark eyes prevented me.

"Do you listen to _nothing_ I tell you?" she asked pityingly. "Do you think it is all academic abstraction and rhetoric? I have been trying _all along_ to help you understand, Adrian. I told you that nothing is black and white, and there is always some evil in what is good, and good in what is evil. I told you that our choices define us, and as Heroes, our consequences are much more pronounced. The Seals are like that. They can change. And appearances are often deceptive. My Seal looks different, now, because I _willed_ it to. But it has not been corrupted. Its essential core remains the same; it is a force for goodness. My purpose in altering its substance and appearance was to create a weapon and a key. I did it to protect you. I could not allow the true Seal to fall into the Judges' hands, but I had to find a way to get to them. In order to do this, I tapped into the part of myself that is not good—the dark side that exists in everyone. But it does not rule me. _I_ rule _it_. We _need_ our wickedness sometimes, Adrian, in order to accomplish what our goodness alone cannot."

I released her. Angry red streaks rose on her arms, then faded away as her flesh healed itself.

"Do you know what makes a person powerful?"

"Superior ability and experience," I said acidly.

"Self-knowledge," she corrected gently, "and the ability to control every aspect of oneself with complete mastery. You must find a purpose for _every_ part of yourself, and bend those parts to your will. If you do, you will find that there is very little that can stand in your way. That is the essence of what a Hero truly is, and it is what makes us so dangerous. We have the innate ability to do this, while ordinary people must work to develop it over many, many years. But for us, all it takes…is a decision."

She reached into the bag and pulled the Seal out again. I stared. It had changed. It was blue and gold and glowing, and its razor edge had vanished. She put it in my hand and placed her other hand on top of it.

"You reclaimed your other name," she said, smiling. "You are Adrian White, but you are also Reaver. No matter what happens now, the part of you that is Reaver will never die, and you cannot neglect him. You must embrace him and make him work for you. He has his uses, as you well know. And frankly, we cannot do this without him. I need you. I need _all_ of you. Can you do this?"

I felt the truth of her words roll over me like a tidal wave. All this time, I had been struggling to avoid being Adrian, until Rose forced me to face him. Once I had, I'd thought I would have to leave everything I had been as Reaver behind in order to stay by her side. Now I understood. She loved Reaver every bit as much as she loved Adrian, because they were both me. I could not survive as half a man, and she did not intend to ask me to try…ever. I leaned toward her and pressed my brow to hers.

"All that I am, all that I ever was, and all that I will ever be, is yours, Rose," I whispered.

The Seal pulsated with light as I spoke. I realized with some confusion that it was pulsing in time with my heart.

"Why is it doing that?" I asked.

"It is doing exactly what I meant it to do, and what you just asked it to do," she replied, her voice breathy with relief. "It is sustaining your life in place of the Dark Seal. This belongs to both of us, now."

"I am…" I could hardly speak. "Free?"

A long, animalistic shriek cut through the air before she could answer, echoing from the depths of the blackness beyond the doors. It hardly mattered. I had my own answer.

"Another invitation?" I suggested, helping her stow the Seal away again and bringing out my guns.

"Yes, I think so. Apparently, we're late."

"Fashionably, my dear," I said, pulling back the hammers of the Paramour and the Dragonstomper, the weapons of my present and my past. "Let us go and greet our hosts, shall we?"

Now that my life was my own, I knew just how to use it.


	21. Chapter 21: Blood

Darkness pressed against us, competing for space with the glow of Rose's body as we descended into the ruins. It occurred to me that her choice of clothing _had_ been practical in one way—it was thin enough to make her into a sort of human torch. Wherever she walked, light danced over the walls and floor. In point of fact, I had never seen her skin glow quite so fiercely. When we emerged from the narrow staircase and stepped into the first chamber, every corner was illuminated, as if by moonlight.

We were not alone.

"Ahh, the welcoming committee, I presume," I chuckled, surveying the gibbering mass of small, dark creatures pouring out of the far doorway. "How marvelous." I had always enjoyed a good soliloquy during a fight. The sound of my own voice steadied me and improved my concentration. "Shall we take the floor and open the _soiree_, my dear?"

Rose's face was set in a tight smile of grim determination. She drew her sword with one hand and her pistol with the other. "Let's."

The shadow beasts leaped at us, snarling and squealing. There were dozens of them. I lined up shot after shot, dropping each one that came in range. Rose darted ahead, shooting one of the beasts over her own arm while she decapitated another with her sword. She moved like a dancer, slashing, firing, and dodging as though her steps had been laid out for her in advance. No motion was wasted.

"Oh, my Queen, you dance _divinely_! I really ought to have invited you to one of my parties. But you _are_ making me a bit jealous, you naughty thing. Allow me to cut in." I squinted carefully and squeezed the trigger of the Dragonstomper, knocking a screaming shadow out of the air and dashing it against the stones. The creature's body tripped several of its fellows, who promptly met their deaths at the edge of Rose's flashing blade. There seemed to be no end to their numbers, however. They began to surround us, slavering and growling in anticipation of the kill.

"Darling, I suggest that you _duck_."

She ducked.

I slipped the Dragonstomper back into its holster and spun, fanning the hammer of the Paramour for rapid fire, laughing madly. Oh, how wonderful it was to be alive! The roar of the gun was deafening, and the monsters collapsed in droves, felled by my bullets. The few that remained turned and ran back the way they had come.

"Tut, tut, leaving so soon?" I called out, walking swiftly after them through a cloud of gunsmoke. "But we've only just begun! Come now, at least stay for the _waltz_."

A hand closed over the back of my coat, dragging me backward just in time to avoid the grasping claws of a shadow I had not seen in the smoke. I quickly shot the beast and glanced back at Rose, who released me with an amused look.

"Do you _always_ talk so much when you fight?" she asked.

"Yes. Even when I'm alone." I gave her a swift kiss. "Now come along, dearest, we must keep up!"

I caught a flicker of movement ahead and immediately shot at it, earning a guttural death-shriek for my efforts. "Hmm…I cannot see a thing, and it would be dreadfully ungentlemanly of me to ask you to _take point_. Fortunately, I believe our friends might be willing to oblige us."

I pulled the peculiar tube that had come with the Paramour from my pocket and screwed it onto the barrel. It was a silent killer, according to Rose, but it was so much _more_ than that in _my _hands. The weapon had been made for Heroes, and it was infused with magic. _Fire_ magic.

"_Auugh_!" I screamed theatrically, allowing my voice to carry through the dark corridor. "My _leg_! _Avo have mercy_, my _leg_!"

Predictably, the skittering of many feet filled the silence after my cries. Stupid creatures. I smirked and pointed the Paramour at the center of the corridor, waiting. At the first sign of movement, I squeezed the trigger and held it. A jet of blue flame doused the hall from the Paramour's barrel and the shadow beasts within went up like so much kindling. Screeching and howling in agony, they collided with one another, spreading the fire to those who had managed to avoid my attack. Some fell in smoldering heaps, but the rest scrambled into the next chamber.

I held out an arm to my Queen and bowed with a flourish. "Torches to light our way, Your Majesty."

"Not for nothing do they call you the Hero of Skill," she muttered with a small smile.

We stepped over the charred remains of the shadow beasts and followed the ones that still lived through the next room and down a long flight of stairs. By the time we reached the chamber at the bottom, the last of them had finally died.

"When we have children, Rose…" I began airily, pausing to put a silenced bullet into the head of each of the corpses—one could never be too careful.

"Children?"

"Yes, dear, they're like us, but smaller. They eat a great deal, defecate a great deal more, and make a lot of _noise_."

Rose laughed and smacked the back of my head gently. I slapped her shapely bottom rather harder, and she gasped, giving me a half-amused, half-shocked grin.

"As I was saying, when we have _children_, you'll want to tell them about this day. I'd tell the story myself, but it is in poor taste to boast."

"I see. And what will you tell them about me?"

"I won't need to tell them anything. They will need only to look at you to know how special you are. You _do_ actually glow in the dark, you know. And you have _wings_. By the way, are you able to fly?"

"You know, I have never had the occasion to try," she answered thoughtfully.

"You must be joking! That would have been the _first_ thing I would have sorted out."

"The wingspan is too small, I think. Logically, it would take a wingspan at least twice as long as I am tall in order to support flight."

"They are _magical_, my dear. Magic has almost nothing to do with logic."

"On the contrary, it has _everything_ to do with logic." Her face brightened. "Intuition is a form of logic, you know. It is your subconscious mind making logical determinations on its own, based on the knowledge at hand. For example: we have been standing in this room for several minutes, rather than pressing on. I can deduce that we are nearing the heart of this place because of your reluctance to move. I can feel your tension."

"You're basing that on solid observations," I said dismissively. And yes, she was right. I _was_ hesitant to move forward, because the Judges were quite near. I truly hated how right she was, sometimes. I could not help stalling a bit more, simply to hear the sound of her voice a little longer. "That is not exactly intuition, is it?"

"My subconscious and I are very well-acquainted. When I have a feeling, I deconstruct it to determine what caused it."

I frowned slightly. "You really _have_ found a novel way of protecting yourself from all of the pain in your life."

"Well, I have never been one for drinking," she replied with a smile. "So this was really the only alternative." Her face and her voice grew serious again. "Are you with me? Are you prepared? They are close, aren't they?"

"Yes," I said quietly. Rose could decide for herself which question I was answering. "What is our plan, exactly? How do we close the door?"

"It all began with Theresa. That is where it will end. I imagine that restoring Theresa's sight will put things right. If she is made whole, the Dark Seer will cease to exist."

"Again, darling..._how_? Tell me the _what_ and the _where_, and I will do whatever must be done. Send me in blindly, and all I can promise you is that there will be a great deal of bullet holes which we may or may not survive to see."

"Follow my lead," she said. "And bear in mind that they will try to _break_ you before they resort to killing you. They want you alive."

"But not you."

"Not me," she confirmed. "I believe they will try to create another Dark Seal, and if we allow that, they will use it to kill me outright and strengthen you beyond anything you have ever experienced, because you will have the entirety of my essence added to yours. The Seal I brought is now vulnerable, because it belongs to both of us. If they corrupt you, they corrupt the Seal, and I will die. But that is what we _want_ them to try to do. If they did not have this small advantage, they would simply force another Dark Seal from your body, and I do not know what it would do to you. Remember, the battle we are to fight is in the mind and the spirit, far more than the body. If you let them break you, this chance will be lost—quite possibly forever. If they try to corrupt our Seal, I will be free to make my move. You must steel yourself, and remember who you are, or they will take it all away from you."

I snorted. "How lucky that I perform so well under pressure."

"Also," Rose added, walking forward. "They probably know everything I've just said."

"_Lovely_." I felt myself shutting down, little by little. All that would not be necessary for the battle ahead was falling away. Fear was the first to go, and I was glad to be rid of it. Fury filled the hole it had left behind in my heart.

"Remember what Theresa said when you asked her to tell you everything you were about to see during our journey. She told you that you already knew your history, and that the knowledge itself changed nothing. Let that give you confidence, now. It also means that simply _knowing_ our intentions is not enough to stop us. Only through _action_ will our fate—and theirs—be decided."

She held out her hand, and I took it in grim silence.

The darkness began to lift as we neared the heart of the place. Crimson light filtered into the hall, turning our bodies faintly red as we walked.

And then…we were there. The hall opened up into an enormous well, built from the stones of hundreds of tombs. The grey sky of Wraithmarsh flew high above our heads, but its light could not penetrate the scarlet flames of the torches that never dimmed in this abominable place. Across the void of the well sat three thrones, and before them stood three figures, shrouded in darkness. The figure in the center was unmistakably Theresa. She stood in precisely the same manner, with her hands clasped before her, and she wore the cowl and robes of the immortal seer. But _this_ Theresa existed in shadow.

**"Welcome,"** she said, and I shuddered at the familiar sound of her terrible voice. It was the voice from the ocean. **"I knew you would come, at last, Reaver, with the one whose essence will make you a god. We have waited centuries for this."**

I forced a smirk. "I see. You know, I rather think 'The Temple of Reaver' has a nice ring to it, but I am quite frankly not interested in the sort of divinity you seem to be offering me. I certainly do not want to end up looking like _you _lot. It would be a true atrocity to rob the world of this face, don't you think?"

The Dark Seer ignored my taunts and seemed to focus her energies on Rose, instead. **"Poor, misguided child. No weapon can harm me, for I do not live, and I cannot die. Everything you have done has served me. I sought to bring you to this place, to make the ultimate sacrifice. You will feed the darkness unceasingly. You slew the Crawler, my herald, and now you shall take his place. **_**You**_** shall become the harbinger of eternal night."**

"There will be no more sacrifices," Rose said softly. "I am not here to kill you. I am here to save you. Here, more than 500 years ago, an innocent Hero lost her sight. Her blood was spilled upon this very ground by a monster from the Void. And here, you, who abhor the light because it allows us to see, have dwelled in shadow. No more."

She narrowed her eyes. With two swift movements, she opened her inner arms from elbow to wrist on the steel cutlass strapped to my back. I had no time to react. Blood rained onto the ground in thick, heavy streams from her fingertips, and she flung it over the walls and across the yawning gap of the well. The wounds closed almost immediately, leaving no traces of scarring behind, but her white dress was spattered with crimson, and so was her face. Her hair was sticky with it. She raised her bloodstained arms and her wings burst from her back with a blast of light that very nearly blinded me for an instant. The Judges cringed away from her, and despite myself, so did I.

"Here is the blood of Theresa the Seer!" she cried fiercely. Her voice echoed through the massive well, growing larger and stronger than I had ever imagined it could. "I come to you in her stead, as her champion _and_ as yours, to make you whole once more!"


	22. Chapter 22: Evolution

**Thank you all for coming this far. Your support means more to me than I can ever say. :)  
**

* * *

All of the torches went out immediately. The Dark Seer and her protégés scattered, scrambling to avoid the light, but it continued to blaze from Rose's body and blood. The walls were streaked with it, and a few dots had landed on the Dark Seer's throne. The blade of my cutlass was glowing with it. I fought back a surge of horror and resisted the urge to throw the sword away. This was why it had been given to me. I knew that much, now. Rose had known all along what she would be forced to do in order to avoid sacrificing our lives. But I knew from experience that great power always came at a great cost.

_A true warrior never shows the world all that he is capable of_, she had said.

The world had never known the true measure of Rose's capabilities. I had never known. And clearly, neither had the Judges.

"Prepare yourself, Adrian! They are coming for you," Rose warned, slicing her body open against my blade once more in a quick spinning motion that splashed the walls and ground and covered my sword from hilt to tip in brightness so fierce that it brought spots to my eyes. I blinked furiously, shuddering, and suppressed a moan of horror at the blood that bathed the room around the well. There was so much of it, and it was all hers. It flowed like a river from her fresh wounds. I could not bear the way she was hurting herself…but what truly chilled me was that she showed no signs of pain from her injuries. I moved away from her. Her own blade would have to do this gruesome work.

One of the lesser Judges leaped onto the wall and was skittering toward us like a spider in the dancing light, avoiding smears of luminous blood on his way. Rose extended an arm and grabbed him by the neck, ripping him from the wall as if he weighed nothing. I could not help but gape in wonder. This was a _Shadow_ _Judge_. This was a monster of great power, with the ability to rule over all of Wraithmarsh, and she had him by the throat, her bare skin touching his unflinchingly.

"You were born in the Void," she said to him, holding him aloft before her. She tilted her head slightly, examining him. "You have no business here. You will return to your home, now, and you will _never_ leave it again. _Know your place_."

He hissed and struggled in her grip, writhing and screeching. Her blood was burning him.

"Yes," she whispered. "In blood this began. In blood it will end."

He turned to dust in her fist, and then when she opened her hand, there was nothing. Not even dust. I stared at her in shock, my heart pounding in my chest. Her face was devoid of emotion. It was more terrifying than anything I had experienced in my long life. In that moment, I did not know exactly who or what she was. She spun, and I flinched, ready to respond—and she bypassed me and seized another Judge. She crushed him against a splash of blood on the wall, her eyes blazing with white light, her face completely blank. He screamed in agony as he dissolved, but she gave him no quarter, no mercy. She obliterated his existence completely. When she moved her hand from the wall, her palm glowed fiercely with her blood.

"Come to me, Theresa!" she cried. "Your blood flows in my veins, and I have bled for you. This ground belongs to both of us, now! It is my Court as much as yours, and I command you to _come to me_!"

I could no longer look at her directly. She was too bright. It was as though a small star had fallen into the ruins. I desperately wanted out…but I could not leave her. And yet I could not stop her, either. Rose had evolved during her release of power. She was more than a woman, more than a Queen…more than a Hero. She was something else entirely. She was the Light, and she was at war. I did not dare distract her. But that did not mean that I would not do my part. She had told me that she could not cope with the Shadows on their level, and part of me prayed that this was still true—that she still needed me, somewhere beneath the face of the shining, blood-stained paragon she had become.

I searched for the Dark Seer over the barrels of my pistols. I could end this, myself, and if I did, perhaps it would bring Rose back to me. I knew that I must not kill the Seer, but that did not mean that I could not _incapacitate_ her. And after all that she had done to me…I _wanted very much_ to incapacitate her. To force her to endure the agonies she had heaped upon me. If I was truly a spear, I would find her withered heart and rip it from her body.

"Come to _me_, Theresa," I whispered, smiling. "Rose will annihilate you, but with me, you have a chance. So come and take it, my little _pet_."

A flash of movement caught my eye. Something was crawling out of the well. I narrowed my eyes. No, not something…_many_ somethings.

Dark shapes swarmed over the walls as they climbed. They were pulling themselves up with their hooked claws, digging into the stones of the desecrated tombs of Oakvale's fallen, and I shot each shadowy body as it appeared, knocking them back down into the deep fathoms of the well. Yet wherever I dispatched one, two more took its place. They shoved each other as they climbed, sometimes knocking their fellows down as quickly as I did. Their numbers were inestimable. The very walls seemed to writhe and shift, no longer visible beneath the hundreds of Shadows that covered them. When they touched Rose's burning blood, they screamed and evaporated, but there were always dozens more to take their places.

Dark Theresa must have taken refuge at the bottom of the well. She was sacrificing her spawn to give herself a chance to escape.

"_No_!" I growled furiously as a rising tide of bloodlust turned the world misty and red around me. I would not allow her to get away from me. I would not allow her to survive this. Rose's wishes for Theresa's wholeness and salvation be _damned_. It was not possible to save everyone. She stubbornly refused to learn this lesson, and I had no time to argue the point with her, now. Theresa had been right—Rose's compassion was going to allow the Dark Seer to escape. I could not—and _would_ not—let that happen.

I vaulted over the struggling creatures and plunged down into the black void of the well. I thought I heard a scream from high above me as I fell, but my blood was pounding in my ears, and there was nothing in my mind but the chase and the kill, now. I was hunting. The snarling, hissing monsters climbing the walls of the well raced by. There seemed to be no end to them, or to the well, for that matter. I shot as many of the beasts as I could as I fell. It seemed the sensible thing to do. The blood on my sword gave me enough light to see my targets.

I never landed. I simply ceased to fall. My body hung suspended in darkness, much as it had in the ocean centuries ago. In the gloom, I saw the gaunt form of the Dark Seer standing before me, illuminated faintly by my bloodied blade.

"Hello!" I said pleasantly. "And…goodbye!"

I lifted both pistols and shot her in the face. _One bullet to fill each empty socket,_ I thought, smirking. The force of the shots blew her thin body backward, ripping her cowl away. She fell in a heap several yards away.

"Well, that ought to do it," I sighed. "I would have tortured you, my dear, but my bride-to-be would have hated that, and she is already going to be angry enough with me for this. I have my future to consider, you see. Domestic bliss requires compromise."

The body twitched.

"Oh dear, are you _still alive_?" I called out. "Well, say the word, and I will put you out of your misery."

A thin arm rose and whipped toward me, fingers digging into the blackness as it pulled the rest of the body along. I frowned. That was unnerving. I shot her in the head again, and then in the hand for good measure, blowing off all of her fingers. Alive or dead, I did not like the look of that grasping hand.

"_Stupid boy_," a voice hissed. It seemed to be coming from the body of the Dark Seer, but she had three bullets in her brain.

"Oh, for the love of Avo," I groaned, scratching my head with the barrel of the Dragonstomper. "Are you _not dead_ _yet_? This is becoming a bit ridiculous, you know. If you have some sort of _secret weak spot_, you really ought to tell me where it is, because otherwise I am simply going to have to shoot you into paste, and I'm sure that is no way to die."

My anger was fading rapidly in the face of my confusion. Why would she not die? I frowned, then cursed. Of course. The bloody door. All of that nonsense about the Void. I still had no idea how to separate her from the seat of her power.

Of course, that did not mean I could not shoot her into paste for my own amusement…

She pulled herself up with her uninjured hand. Now that her cowl was gone, I saw that she was Theresa's twin in nearly every way, but... I stared, flabbergasted. The primary difference was that _this_ Theresa had eyes. My bullets had not put them out, either. They were undamaged, and they were disturbingly beautiful. In the dimness, I could not tell if they were blue or grey, or some color in between, but they were large and expressive. She looked at me with a mixture of pity and loathing. Something was not quite right, however, and I realized after a moment that although she had eyes, she still could not see. It was a disguise. A lie.

"You are being used, Reaver," she said. Her voice was very cold, but it had lost a great deal of its raw power, now. She began to walk toward me.

I shot her four times in the heart. Her body shook with each blow, but she did not lose her footing.

"_Paste_," I reminded her. "I have all the time in the world, and I have no shortage of bullets. The closer you come to me, the easier it is for me to put those bullets through your body. This is called _physics_. Do you understand?"

I wanted her to stay away. I could move my arms and legs, but I seemed unable to put distance between us. She smiled the lovely, slow smile she had passed down to Rose, and a sudden flare of nauseating agony dug its way into my gut. I looked down in surprise.

"_G-Gods…_"

The fingers I had blown off her hand were buried to the second knuckle in my abdomen. I pulled desperately at their stumps, which were slippery with our mingled blood, but I could not remove them. Cold sweat beaded on my brow, and I shuddered. The terrible feeling of invasion consumed me again, as it had three hundred years ago.

"Amazing, is it not, what can be used as a projectile weapon?" the Dark Seer laughed. "Many, many things can qualify as missiles. A bullet is merely one type of ammunition. This is called _semantics_. On that note…let us talk, now, you and I."

I glared at her, sucking in hard breaths through my nose as sweat ran down my face. My chest heaved. "Not a step closer," I warned her through my teeth, pointing the Dragonstomper at her face.

The tips of the fingers curled inside me, and I screamed, losing my grip on the pistol. Her sharp nails were scraping my insides, twisting and digging. After what seemed an eternity, they grew still again, and I sobbed for breath, redoubling my efforts to remove them. The Dragonstomper was gone.

"You have already learned the consequences of incivility, Reaver," she said calmly. "Do not compound your troubles by speaking out of turn. You must also abandon the hope that you might outthink me. Everything that you are was formed by _my_ hand. I know you better than you know yourself. I designed you. If the whim strikes me, I can destroy you with a _thought_."

"I will…believe that…when I see it…you _heinous_ _quim_," I panted, digging my nails into one of the stumps, trying to find enough purchase to pull it out of me.

"Such _language_!" she chuckled sardonically. "Well, you always were a rebellious one. But, as they say, spare the rod…spoil the child. And it has been some time since you last felt true pain, hasn't it? Your life has been rather luxurious. It has left you with bad habits."

The fingers twisted again, briefly, and I bit my lip against the urge to cry out. I tasted blood. The pain stopped, and the Dark Seer pointed her large, blue-grey eyes in the general direction of my face.

"Forgive me; I digress. I am actually here to help you, Reaver, despite what it seems. I only do this now because you would not stop your ridiculous attempts to kill me. Even you must admit that your attention is not easy to hold."

I grunted, bending all of my strength upon the task of ridding myself of her wretched fingers, but they would not budge. I let out a groan of helpless fury.

"You see," she continued coolly, moving closer, "you are being used, as I said. The Queen, your _Rose_, has been using you from the very beginning in order to fuel her campaign against the very thing that keeps you alive. She is the ultimate politician. She has power, beauty, and intelligence, and on top of that, she has a deadly ally. My counterpart, the one who exists in the Spire, has used Rose to further _her_ suicidal efforts because she knew that there was no one else in the world who would be capable of tricking you as Rose has. She knew that your weakness is your desire. It was her means of ingress into your mind, and eventually, your heart."

She stopped before me, folding her hands at her waist. "Do you _really think_ for a _second_ that a Queen known across Albion as a paragon of virtue would marry a man like you? A man any one of her citizens would kill in half a heartbeat, given the chance? Are you really that foolish, Reaver? Has she so ensnared you that you would discard your reason? All of the things you have learned over the centuries? She sacrificed her _virginity_ to you, knowing perfectly well that you did not love her. She allowed you to harm one of her maids. There is _nothing_ she would not do for her cause."

"Th-there…" I whispered hoarsely, trailing off into silence.

"Yes?" She tilted her head toward me. "You may speak, Reaver. Tell me that I am wrong...if you can. Search yourself. Search yourself and tell me that what I say is not the truth, that there is anything Queen Rose would not stoop to doing if it meant she could protect her precious Albion."

"There…is…someth-something…" My words were air across my rough, bleeding lips, so soft that even I could barely make them out.

The Seer leaned forward, clearly amused. "Is there?"

"Y-yes…"

I reached up and drew my cutlass in one swift motion. Before she could react to the sound, I had run her through. The blade blossomed between her shoulder blades, still bright with Rose's blood. I grabbed her by the throat and twisted the sword brutally, jerking it upward within the hollow of her chest cavity until it sawed into the bone of her sternum. Her eyes widened, and she tried to gasp, but all that came was a tiny cough of disbelief. I stared into her blind eyes, my teeth on edge.

"She would not kill you," I said.

The fingers embedded in my body went limp as she did. I released her throat and used that hand to rip them out of me. I flung them away as quickly as I could and squeezed her throat once more. My grip was made slippery by my blood.

Blood. It had begun in blood, and that was how it would end. Theresa's blood was the key to the door, and only her blood could sever the Void's access to Albion. Her blood…or the blood of her descendant.

The proof was in my hands. And it was dying. At long last…it was dying.


	23. Chapter 23: Absolution

The Dark Seer's pupils dilated rapidly as she died, and I shook my head. Even in her last moments, she held on to her deception. Such dedication. Such utter, wasteful stupidity. _But perhaps_, I mused, _when one has been playing a part for so many centuries, the part becomes the reality_. This shadow-creature had dreamed herself an undamaged woman, something she could never be, and not even in death would she let go of that illusion.

The darkness was receding, and I saw damp earth beneath my boots, at last. I wrenched the cutlass from the Dark Seer's body, which was fading with the darkness, growing less and less substantial by the moment. I glanced up at the circle of grey light high above my head, and when I looked back down, the corpse was gone—for good, I sincerely hoped.

I brushed my hand over my stomach, where my wounds still throbbed and leaked. They would need attention soon. My shirt was bonded to my body by blood and sweat, and it felt incredibly heavy. Hissing with pain, I ripped it open, scattering delicate buttons everywhere, and tore it into long strips. I tied them around my midsection to stop the bleeding. It would have to do, for now.

All was silent around me, and I very quickly remembered the scream I had heard when I had first leaped into the lower reaches of the well. A winding spiral of steps lined the sides, and I took them two at a time, heedless of the danger. My feet were sure; my heart was not. It thudded painfully in my breast, and I promptly forgot my other wounds.

_Rose_.

I emerged from the bottom of the well and into the site of a massacre.

The walls were streaked with blood. Hundreds of bodies were piled on the floor. There was nowhere to walk, except on top of them. I did not see Rose anywhere. My heart stuttered, and I stumbled among the corpses, falling into a tangle of twisted dead limbs for several seconds before roughly dislodging myself with a grunt of pain. The mountainous trail of bodies seemed to lead into the next room, which did not surprise me. There was not space enough here to hold all that I had seen. I clambered over the dead beasts, making my agonizingly slow way up the mound of bodies that covered the stairs and into the largest chamber.

The shadow-beasts had formed a great circle as they had fallen, and in the center of it, a girl in red was kneeling, holding an older woman in her arms.

It was Rose. She rocked back and forth slightly, holding Theresa—the better part of her, anyway—against her chest. I scrambled over the corpses and made my way to her. Her dress was shredded, all traces of white hidden beneath the crimson of her blood, which to my complete shock, had ceased to glow.

I knelt beside her and put my arms around her, thanking the gods for the first time in my life. There had been so many bodies. So many enemies. And I had left her to fight them alone in my lust for revenge.

She looked up at me with the eyes of a child. "I couldn't…I couldn't…" She gazed back down at Theresa, shaking her head. Tears spilled from her eyes and fell onto the seer's red hair, beading there like dew. To my utter astonishment, Theresa reached up slowly to stroke Rose's blood-stained cheek, where her hot tears had made clean, pale tracks all the way to her neck.

"You're alive," I said flatly. It sounded a bit like an accusation.

"Not for long," Theresa murmured. "I made preparations for your success or failure. When you set out for this place, so did I. I knew when I was able to enter that the deed had been done. My only remaining concern was for your safety. Rose, I knew, would be…well, you have seen for yourself what Rose has done, here. But you…"

I stared at her. She had come here for _me_?

"Why?"

She gave me her beautifully slow smile…Rose's smile. "I have been watching you for so long, Reaver…Adrian. Nearly as long as I have been alive. I once told Sparrow that yours was a soul without a glimmer of light. It is incredible…how very gratifying it can be for a seer…to be so very _wrong_."

Rose held her more tightly, continuing to rock her gently in the cradle of her arms. I noticed that Theresa was becoming…_brighter_…more like a body of light than one of flesh, now. I could nearly see through her skin in places. I felt my heart sink. She was unmistakably dying, and it was tearing Rose apart.

"I've killed you," I said ruefully. "Rose wanted to save you, but I—"

"You did what needed to be done," Theresa interrupted. "You made the sacrifice that Rose could not. Please understand, both of you…I _wanted_ this. Mortality is beautiful. It gives our lives meaning. Immortality is a lonesome burden. You know this all too well. Rose is wise beyond her years, but she is still too young to truly understand. She will need you to guide her through this trial."

"There has to be a way," Rose whispered through her tears. "I…I _promised_. I said I would make you _whole_ again."

Theresa squeezed Rose's hand gently, but her eyeless face remained fixed on mine. She inclined her chin slightly. I took her lead and put my hand against Rose's cheek, turning her to look at me and touching my brow to hers.

"Rose. Please believe her. She is not simply trying to be brave for our sakes. This is what she wanted all along."

"Yes…death will do for me what life could not, Rose. You mustn't blame yourself."

It was becoming more difficult for her to speak. She swallowed and, with what must have been an enormous effort, continued.

"Rose…you know…what you must do, now. There are others. They need…a guide. There must always be…Heroes…in Albion."

Rose bowed her head. "I know. I will find them, and…I'll…I'll give them the choice. I'll teach them. I'll help them to understand what they are."

Theresa was now almost completely transparent. I could see Rose's legs through the light of her fading body.

"Good," she sighed. "And Rose?"

Rose shook with silent sobs. "I'm h-here."

She smiled blissfully and whispered, "I see him."

She raised a hand as if reaching for something. And then she was gone. Rose's arms were empty, and she sat very still for a few moments, shell-shocked. Then, slowly, her hands balled into fists, and she began to cry in earnest. Her sobs echoed through the stone chamber, slightly dampened by the innumerable bodies that lined it, rising in strength until they were screams of anguish. Her breaths whistled as she sucked air into her shuddering lungs, and I pulled her against my chest, resting my chin on top of her head and closing my eyes tightly. Her trembling hands clutched at the scraps of her dress, twisting and tugging at them as she cried against me. The sounds she made were more agonizing than the clawed fingers that had pierced my body only minutes ago. They filled my chest and throat with a relentless, burning pain, and my eyes stung with it.

And yet…as awful as it was to see her this way, tormented by her failure, it was also a relief. Gone was the fire-eyed war-goddess who had annihilated her foes without emotion. Rose was more human and more reachable in this moment than she had been in all the time I had known her. Her vulnerability gave me purpose. I could help her, now—truly help her. I could be all that she needed.

So I held her…and as she suffered the terrible agony of her first broken promise, surrounded by the broken bodies of her enemies, I found myself deeply grateful for the feel of her tears against my skin.

* * *

Rose was slumped against my shoulder, so exhausted by fighting, blood loss, sorrow, and tears that she had fallen into an uneasy state of semi-consciousness. Supporting her back carefully with one arm, I found a healing potion in her satchel and pulled its cork out with my teeth. I drank several swallows, bathing my wounds with the rest. They disappeared almost immediately. I smiled sadly down at Rose. It was her special formula. She had made certain to bring some for us. For me.

I returned the bottle to the satchel and slung it across my back, along with Rose's sword, lifting her into my arms. I would carry her all the way to Bowerstone if that was what it took, but we were leaving, _now_. This place held nothing for either of us, now, and I never wanted to see it again. The cutlass lay in a corner where I had tossed it, and it could stay there forever, as far as I cared. I wanted nothing more to do with it. I wanted no reminders of the bloody work it had done, necessary though it had been.

I made my way through the silent halls, and felt the potion coursing through my veins, giving me new vigor and repairing every bruise, every strained muscle, and every cut. Rose's sword glittered at my back, and her skin lit the way for me, though its light had lost much of its strength. As I walked, a patch of green caught my eye, and I glanced down. For the first time, I noticed that grass was growing between the stones on the floor. I quirked an eyebrow. That most certainly had _not_ been the case when we had entered.

The doors stood open when we came to them at last—but the light that filtered in was obstructed by the silhouette of a man. His shoulders were broad, his body narrow, his stance rigid. In his hands he held a small box of some sort. When his eyes found us, he nearly dropped it in his rush to get to us.

"What happened?" he demanded, putting the stone box on the ground and trying to pull his sister from my arms.

I could not let him. I could not make myself let go of her.

"Reaver," Logan said firmly, clearly wrestling with his temper. "We must get her to the Sanctuary immediately. Give her to me."

"I _can't_, Logan."

He looked rather taken aback. My distress must have been more visible than I had thought. He bent to retrieve the box, and as my eyes followed him, I saw a tiny, star-shaped flower with white petals pushing through a gap in the stones at his feet. A strange compulsion settled over me, and I pushed past him, still clutching Rose tightly against me. I had to go outside. I had to see…

"_Reaver_!"

Logan's shout barely registered in my ears as I stepped into the sunlight. I stumbled and fell to my knees in the thick, green grass.

"Rose, wake up," I whispered, shaking her gently. "You must see this."

She stirred and blinked slowly in the brightness. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she very nearly fainted again. Her eyelids fluttered, and tears coursed down her bloodstained cheeks again.

"I…It's…"

"I know," I said softly, kissing her brow. "It's all right. You don't need to speak, _ma ch__érie_. I merely wanted you to see the beautiful thing you have done, here. You can feel it, can you not? This is how Oakvale was meant to look, and you, my love, will never have to sing for the dead again. They've all gone, now. They are free, like Theresa."

Wraithmarsh had been transformed. The ruins of Oakvale were overgrown with living things. Honeysuckle and jasmine competed for space as they climbed the broken beams of an old doorway, and the caved-in roofs of the ruined farm houses were covered with grass and golden dandelions. A tangle of pink roses stood like wild sentinels on either side of the entrance to the Court. They were still blooming before our eyes; their buds were purest white, but as they opened, the petals grew more and more red, finally finding middle ground between the two colors.

I gazed down at the woman in my arms. She had bled for Theresa, staking her claim on this place. With the Dark Seer dead, it had become hers. Something told me that this was not a responsibility she would shirk. She would create something beautiful here. It was her way.

The grass rustled as Logan came to stand in front of me, having failed to secure my attention with his voice. "We should go," he reminded me.

"How did you get here, Logan?" I asked, unable to tear my eyes away from Rose. Her tears fell steadily, but she was smiling, now. She lifted her face to the sun, closing her eyes.

"This music box allowed me to travel to the Sanctuary. I do not understand exactly how, myself. I only know that when I made the decision to follow her in whatever way I could, I found myself there." There was pain in his voice as he spoke. "And now I find her covered in blood, crying, barely conscious. _What have you done_?"

"Bring us back with your music box, Logan," I said, feeling simultaneously light- and heavy-hearted about the prospect of leaving, now. "I'll tell you what I know."

* * *

"Good _gods_! What in Avo's name is—she's not injured? But the blood…well, get her home and—oh, sweet Avo. I…I need to sit down, now."

Thanks to Jasper's emotional outburst, our time in the Sanctuary was short-lived, and we materialized in Bowerstone Castle, in the tower where Rose had once slept. My quarters. Logan attempted once again to remove his sister from my arms, but I stepped away from him and shook my head firmly.

"Get servants to draw a bath and have them bring it here," I ordered the Prince.

He stared at me in disbelief. "_You_ get the servants to draw a bath. I will not leave my sister like this."

"Are _you_ going to undress her, then?" I snarled. I tried desperately to reign in my anger. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then spoke quietly. "Logan, please. Your sister is in shock. Someone has to get this blood off of her and get her warm. I literally cannot make myself leave her side, not even for a moment. I am now _begging_ you to go, damn you, and as you can doubtless imagine, I have never begged a man for _anything._"

That made an impression. A muscle twitched in Logan's jaw for a moment, but he relented. "I…understand. Do what you can for her, then come to me in the garden. We will speak then."

"Thank you. And Logan…make that _two_ baths, please."

* * *

The maids who came with the baths were horrified by the state of their Queen and offered to stay and assist me, but I waved them away impatiently. As soon as the door closed behind the last one, I laid Rose on a chaise and knelt before her, pushing a blood-hardened tendril of her hair away from her face.

"I am going to undress you and put you in the first bath, now," I said softly. "We must get you cleaned up."

She nodded. "Thank you," she whispered. More tears leaked from her eyes, but she seemed to be coming around again, regaining some of her strength.

I gently peeled the stiffened dress from her sticky skin, thoroughly conscious of the irony of this. She had done the same thing for me only hours ago. It was really a miracle that neither of our minds had cracked, after all we had been through. With my help, she sat up slowly, and I eased the remains of her clothing down around her ankles, then over her feet. I set it aside and took her hands, guiding her to the first steaming tub and dipping one of her hands into the water for a moment with mine.

"Is it too hot?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No. It's all right."

Quickly stripping my own clothing away, I lifted her into my arms again and stepped into the bath with her, lowering myself into the water until I was sitting with her in my lap. Warm water lapped at our chests.

Rose gazed at me with her shining, dark eyes.

"I…failed," she said, shivering. "I promised to save her…but she died _unwhole_. In…pieces."

"I am going to wash the blood away, now," I murmured. "Close your eyes."

She closed them, and I cleaned her face and body as gently as I could with a soft cloth. The water was tinged pink, but I could not bring myself to feel disgust. I was beyond that sort of weakness, now.

"Rose," I said, after a long moment of silent scrubbing. "When I was at the bottom of the well, I killed the Dark Seer using your blood to close the door. Without you, the Void would still threaten Albion, and Theresa would still be trapped, living as half a person. I know from personal experience that this is no way to live. I cannot force you to understand the gift we granted her when we freed her from this life, but I believe you will come to it, yourself, in time."

I took her hands again. "Time to move to the other bath, my dear. Up we go."

She moved more readily, now, probably eager to be away from the bloody water, and as we sank into the fresh bath, I felt her body relax against mine. With a new cloth, I washed her a second time in the clean water. As I worked, she brushed her fingers over my stomach.

"You were hurt," she whispered.

My hands froze for a moment. I had drunk her potion. All traces of the dark Seer's torture had vanished completely. "How do you know?"

"I can feel the scars. I do not see them, but…I feel them. What did she do to you?" Her dark eyes held mine with such intensity that I could not find a way to brush the question aside. She was not going to allow it.

I sighed, wrapping the cloth around her shoulder and massaging it gently. She was clean, now, but my hands needed something to do. "Well, I shot her, and she did not appreciate that. Somehow, she managed to bury her fingers in my belly, and it was quite effective in putting a stop to my shooting. I could not hold onto the Dragonstomper. It is gone. But," I said lightly, "I _do _have five others, so I suppose that is not so terrible. At any rate, while she was torturing me, she did just what you warned me she would do—she tried to break my mind. She seemed bent on convincing me that you have been using me, that you have no intentions of marrying me, and—well, I honestly cannot remember all of it. It was a lot of nonsense, frankly, and I was already so entirely set on killing her that she could have claimed to be my _mother_ and I would not have cared a jot."

Rose caressed my face, and I leaned into her hand, covering it with mine.

"You are an extraordinary man," she whispered, her eyes glazing over with tears again. "You never gave in, even when she...oh, Adrian…I am so sorry that she did that, and that I could not stop her."

"I _know_ you, Rose. You are many things, but you are completely incapable of true deception. You will need _me_ for that, and I am more than happy to be whatever it is that you need. I will always need an outlet for my wickedness, as you so wisely pointed out." I kissed her palm. "I was _glad_ to put your sword through her heart. So do not let that weigh on your mind. Let me hold it for you. _I_ will always look on it as a glorious triumph, but it would only hurt _you_. Your heart is too soft, my dear. But I would not have it any other way. I love you so much, Rose—in fact, if I were _anyone_ but _me_, the degree to which I care for you would be _nauseating_. I will always have total faith in you. The fact that I am still _alive_ is proof of your love for me. We need only look to your Guild Seal to see that."

"_Our_ Guild Seal," she corrected me, smiling.

"Yes, quite right. But I do think that it is high time that I got you a proper engagement ring."

"An _engagement_ ring?" she repeated, as though she had never heard a more ridiculous idea in her life. "You mean that I must _wait_ to marry you?" The pleading look in her eyes brought a wide grin to my lips.

"All good things take time, _ma belle_. I thought you knew that."

"I won't stand for it," she said stubbornly. "I've waited long enough."

I leaned back in the clean water, closing my eyes and smiling. "I'm sorry, my sweet, but I cannot let you get your way _all_ the time. It sets a bad precedent."

We bantered like this for quite a while. Long enough to free her mind from the grip of her guilt and pain. The tub of pink water sat forgotten for a time, off to the side. And that was just how I wanted it. It would take time for her to recover completely from the shock of Theresa's strange death, but time was something we had in abundance, now, and I intended to savor every moment.

* * *

**Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone! The end is nearly upon us (one chapter left to go, and then perhaps an epilogue to tease you), but I promise you that a sequel is in the works. ;) Let me know if there are specific things you'd like to see! I value your feedback very, very much.**


	24. Chapter 24: Paragon

Though there was nothing to bury, Rose insisted on a memorial service for Theresa. Despite my complicated feelings about that, I had not protested; she had do deal with her grief somehow. The service was held in the Royal Gardens, in the shadow of a freshly erected statue of the blind Seer. As per Rose's specifications, the figure's cowl was down, revealing her lovely face to the world as she smiled over the city of Bowerstone. Not far away, the statue of Sir Walter Beck cut a dashing figure with his boot on a keg and his sword over one shoulder. Rose had given the garden symmetry, now, I noticed.

I stood beside Logan, who, like me, had declined a chair. Garth and Hammer sat in front of us. Only we five had ever known Theresa. Only we knew the significance of her life, and her death. But another man sat with us. His hair was streaked with grey and white, and a clockwork dog lay at his feet, thumping its wire-brush tail against the ground at random intervals. I had signed everything I owned over to him earlier that morning—everything I had stolen from him before the virtuous Hero Queen's rise to power.

Rose, radiant in white with a single, stark red ribbon tied around her narrow waist, wore a crown of roses from Oakvale. She removed it and laid it at the feet of the statue, turning to face us. I could not help but sigh with longing. These days, I hardly found myself more than five feet away from her, and today, she looked especially beautiful. The ethereal glow had returned to her skin, stronger than ever. Her heart had mended, and I could think of nothing in the world that could break her, now. And if there was something, it would have to contend with me, first.

"I will not attempt to explain the impact of the many deeds of Theresa of Oakvale on our lives and our world. That is beyond the capability of any one person. Each of you must consider this in the privacy of your own thoughts. For my part, I will say this: were it not for Theresa's persistence, I would not be standing here. I would not exist." She placed a hand on the side of the statue and gazed up at it. "She gave me my life, and with it, three missions—to lead Albion against the Darkness, to destroy the Shadow Court…" She paused, letting her hand fall away from the stone. "And one more thing. To ensure that Albion will always have guardians to protect it. I have asked you all here today not merely to honor Theresa, but to help me to fulfill her final request. Professor Faraday?"

The old man stood up. His mechanical dog lifted its head, but put it down on its steel paws again when he shook his head. "Not yet, boy," he muttered. He tugged his vest down and walked to the Queen, bowing over her hand with a fond smile. She had saved his life, freed him from Traitors' Keep, and restored to him all that he had lost. Bowerstone Industrial had truly begun to thrive after his reinstatement there. I felt no bitterness. I had all that I wanted, right here.

"Ladies. Gentlemen." Faraday nodded to each of us. "I am a simple inventor. My company is devoted to creating a better tomorrow and bringing it to Albion _today_. That has been my motto and my dream for decades. But now, with Her Majesty's aid, and with the aid of Sir Garth and Lady Hammer, Faraday Industries has _achieved_ this goal. I am pleased to confirm that Albion's future is indeed secure. We _have_ determined that Heroes are not simply born—they are _awakened_. Countless people, young and old, unknowingly carry the blood of the Old Kingdom in their veins. We have created a place for these people to learn to use their abilities, should they choose to embrace them. We have built a new sort of Heroes' Guild—but it is so much _more_ than that. It is a place for Heroes to learn and flourish in mind, body, and spirit. I call it the Haven. And I could not be more pleased to introduce its headmistress."

He bowed to Rose again, smiling broadly, and she took his hand firmly, returning his smile.

"Thank you, Ernest." She addressed the rest of us again. "Naturally, it will be impossible to effectively teach new Heroes and run a kingdom alone. After much consideration, and with the help of Professor Faraday, I have also put another measure into effect. This time next year, the people of Albion will elect a number of officials from among their peers to form a Parliament. I will remain a Queen, but my voice will no longer be the only one that matters in my court. I hope that each of you will do me the great honor of remaining here, as members of my council, to guide and advise as we implement these great changes. With your aid," she said passionately, "Albion will be a free nation, at last, governed by the will of its own people and its monarch. We will forge our future _together_."

Logan and I exchanged significant glances. _Politics_. Rose was trading one potential evil for another, but her heart was in the right place. She wanted to prevent the sorts of disasters her brother's reign had wrought, _and_ protect people like him from the crushing burdens that made them tyrants to begin with.

"Well, I'm for it," Hammer said cheerily. "I'm getting too old for the North, anyway. I can't take the cold like I used to. Just promise me one thing, Rosie—let's have ourselves a good scrap now and then, eh? Can't let our form get rusty, now, can we? Not when we've got to train all of those green Heroes."

"Absolutely," Rose replied with a grin. "You see? I knew you would make an excellent adviser."

"Yes…but, as I hear it, you can see the future," Garth said. "That gives you quite an advantage over the rest of us. Why do you need us?"

"Because we _make_ the future, Garth."

Garth nodded slowly. "I'll stay. After all that I've seen, I would be a great fool to walk away, now. I have only one concern, Your Majesty, because I am a student of history. And history tells us that there was a Guild, once, long ago, and when its Heroes became corrupt, the people burned it to the ground and destroyed them."

"I know," she said solemnly. "That is why I have confidence about this course of action. If we do become corrupt as Heroes, we know that there will be heroes of a different kind to stop us. Albion will balance itself one way or another. I merely wish to give those with the potential to become what we are their chance. They have the right to grow." Her eyes rested squarely on Logan as she spoke, and he shifted uncomfortably, clasping his hands behind his back. "The Haven is in Oakvale, far from the political center of Albion. There, those who wish to become Heroes will be protected, and they can live in peace. If you are all agreeable, we will journey there tomorrow, and begin our work. Thank you."

Garth offered an arm to Hammer, who ignored it and stood up on her own, stretching. They set off together toward the kitchens, and Logan moved away toward a fountain. Rose looked after him for a moment, then came to stand beside me. I took her hands in mine and kissed them.

"May I take just one more moment of your time, Your Majesty?"

Professor Faraday stood beside us, along with the clockwork dog.

"Of course, Ernest." Rose smiled warmly and gave him her full attention. "What can I do?"

He gestured to the dog. "I…well, er…you see, your valet, Jasper, and I are old friends, and he mentioned to me in a letter than you had a dog as a young child, and that he took ill and passed away before your battle with the Crawler."

Her eyes lit up. "You…you made this for _me_?"

"If it pleases you," he said kindly. "A small token of thanks for my freedom—from _both_ of us."

The mechanical dog barked and wagged its tail, tilting its metal head. One of its eyes fell off and landed in the grass, bouncing away into a patch of daisies. The dog chased eagerly after it.

"Er, he still requires a bit of maintenance, as you can see—forgive me, Your Majesty. A bit of solder and that eye ought to stay on for good."

"He is perfect. I _love_ him," she said, beaming. She plucked the eye from among the flowers and held out her arms to the clockwork beast. I watched with amusement as she screwed the eye back onto its head and patted it. The glint of her engagement ring as her hand moved in the sunlight made my heart soar.

"You _had_ to give her a pet," I said, shaking my head. "Well, at least this one does not _shed_. But he is _not_ sleeping in the bed, darling. I will not have oil stains on the sheets. I'm quite sure Jasper would agree with me."

Rose laughed merrily, hugging the bizarre contraption. Professor Faraday smiled and took his leave. I bent slightly and quirked an eyebrow.

"Rose, dear. You _do_ know that this is not actually a _dog_, do you not? It isn't alive. It cannot feel you hugging it."

"Just because a thing is not alive does not mean that I cannot love it," she said sincerely.

"Yes, yes, I know. You love _everything_." The mockery in my voice did not entirely hide the admiration behind my words.

"I do." She stroked the clockwork dog's head and looked up at me. "Adrian…will you please go and talk to my brother? He is brooding by the fountain. My words have bothered him deeply. He will not want to hear more of them. You two seem to have developed a rapport."

I glanced over my shoulder. Logan was leaning against the edge of the fountain, staring hard at his own reflection. "Yes," I sighed, "that is _definitely_ brooding, and I am not at all surprised. I won't be long, my dear."

I left her to her new mechanized friend and walked toward her brother. I removed my top hat and tucked it beneath my arm. As I came to stand beside him, I gazed into the pool of the fountain and tilted my face this way and that, checking for imperfections. Naturally, there were none. My hair was absolutely impeccable. Nothing was out of place.

"That was quite a speech," I said casually, studying Logan's face in the water. I frowned. He _really_ needed to _eat_ more. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes looked disturbingly hollow.

"Yes, it was. What do you want, Reaver?"

"Logan, I am going to be frank with you. We _are_ to be brothers, soon, after all, so if you want to hit me again, you had best do it before I marry the Queen. I am giving you this chance—for free—because I am not going to mince words with you. I am going to give you the facts as I see them, and I'm quite sure you will _hate_ what I am about to say."

He did not answer. I did not care.

"Theresa chose to awaken Rose's blood. You were passed over—worse, you were _used_. You were hated. You were abandoned. Your mother loved a man who was not your father and conceived another child. You were lied to by everyone you've ever known, in fact…except for _that woman_, sitting on the ground, playing with that mechanical contraption as if it is a living thing, knowing full well that it is not. That woman will _never_, _ever_ lead you astray, and you would be wise to accept her words and have faith in her undying, unyielding, _unabashedly earnest _love for you. In short, Logan," I said, rapping my cane against the ground with each word, "_Get_. _Over_. _It_. Sparrow chose Walter. Albion chose Rose. Who cares?"

Logan's eyes burned into mine as he looked up at me. I put an arm around his shoulders, intentionally squeezing him much too hard, and pointed to his sister.

"_She_ cares, you bloody fool. She believes in you. She always has. She always will. You owe it to her, and to yourself, to pull yourself out of this despair of yours and live like a man again. Take her offer. Make something of yourself, as she did. Right now, you are positively _depressing_ to be around."

I released him and gave him a firm pat on the back. He stood very still, his eyes flitting back and forth between his sister and my face, and I smirked as I walked away.

"Oh, and if you want my _personal_ advice: find a _girl _and settle down," I suggested over my shoulder, putting my hat back on. "Your chances of catching one will increase dramatically if you have Heroic powers, you know. Just a suggestion. Women _love_ it. Trust me." When it was clear that he was not, in fact, going to hit me, I turned away again and waved. "Tatty-bye, now! We have that long trip to the Haven tomorrow, remember. Don't oversleep!"

I smiled as I made my way back to my Queen. Whether or not Logan chose to awaken as a Hero, I knew that my point had been made. I had said what Rose could not. As she made her mark on the world, changing it and shaping it into a better place, I would be there to help her, to do the harsh things that made men grow…and to love her, always, as she showed them the compassion and faith that made them _want_ to grow.

_Fin_

* * *

_This book is dedicated to Angela Mercurio: Thank you for being my Person._

* * *

**To all who have read and stood by Reaver and Rose (and Logan) all this time, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Please leave your feedback. I will never stop reading it, and it will never fail to move me, no matter how short. **

**Love, always,**

**-Marina**


	25. Acknowledgements

The sequel to _My Other Name_ has been published! Please enjoy _A Perfect World_ and be sure to Follow it so you don't miss the updates! :)

Special thanks go out to:

**Angelacm**

**Kami2015**

**Deathofaraven**

**TinablionFableFreak**

**AlexaStormborn**

**Heretherebemonsters**

**Walkman355**

**Greyskye**

**Strikit**

**AngelCharbon**

**Silver of Jessi**

**Illusion of the Mirror**

**Kiltsaresexy**

**HiddenWolfx**

**Ladylapointe**

**Yinwolf**

**Alice Shadowrunner 01**

**Lunar Wolf Fenrir**

**KurandRobgirl**

**Rach**

…and all who favorited and followed this story. Thank you so much!

Also, to **Lucretzia**, for adding me to her Community. That was an amazing, wonderful surprise! Thank you! I am honored.

And now, we will follow Rose and Reaver into _A Perfect World_. :)


End file.
